Unmasking the Chains
by Lucifer Rosemaunt
Summary: ErikRaoul slash fic. It's dark, it's different, it's the continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Erik and Raoul make different choices and take different paths that converge to one. Warning: character death. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Both Raoul and Erik reach their breaking points in a life hid behind masks.

Warning(s): child abuse.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Read this!

Story Points: (Hi… so a couple of things you should know before reading this fic. Like the summary says, it is a (quasi) continuation of A Mask for All Occasions, so I'd suggest reading that (although you don't technically have to), but the characterization of Erik and Raoul will be based off of those vignettes.)

Time-wise: This story occurs about a month before the masquerade.

Verse: I am kind of mixing movie and stage-verse but I am following the movie-verse for the most part, but I cannot help but diverge (you know, since it _is_ slash).

Raoul: Unfortunately, I am picking on him again. I do not know why, but an angsty Raoul really does it for me, which means I am taking liberties with his past and family

Story time: The style of this story is actually like the vignettes, so it will have overlapping events, but not quite. Whatever, you'll see.

Pacing: This story starts slowly. It's like a snowball, but I'm really actually not sure if it'll gain enough speed to appease you all. For instance, Raoul and Erik do not actually talk to each other until the end of the fifth chapter. They do not actually have a real conversation until the seventh chapter. (that is a very long way off, but there are other interactions that are interesting)

Tone: I'm going for a completely different tone for this story. It's leaning toward dark and not the instant gratification category I would place all my other fics in. Complete 180 if you ask me, but I needed a change. I hope you like it anyway.

Done with story notes!

A/N: Sidenote… you don't really need to know for the story, but just a general note about yours truly… I'm not very good at 1st person POV because when I write I'm more of a voyeur than a role player (that sounds dirty) and as you could tell from Pass Time, I usually drop 1st person in favor for 3rd. Hopefully, I can break that habit with this fic.

salutes. I'll shut up now. On with the fic.

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Unmasking the Chains

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul's POV

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I woke up slowly and reveled in the heavy feel of my body. It was the most relaxed I would feel all day and I did not want to lose that feeling already. Going back to sleep sounded like a very good idea. However, my left hand was going numb. I made my body listen to me long enough so that I could turn over to my other side. I usually avoided sleeping on my back.

Without opening my eyes, I knew it was still very early in the morning, probably before sunrise. When I was young, I had to wake up early for my lessons. The lessons actually started after breakfast, but if I wanted any time for myself to play or just read, I would have to wake up earlier than my lessons because they lasted up until dinner. So, I woke up early just to have some time when my family or my tutors would not monitor me. I could not help but love the quiet and calm the hour before dawn provided. In that not so darkness, I felt less of a prisoner. It's still my favorite time of day.

However, getting up did not seem to be a viable option. I had not been sleeping all too well these past few months. Too many changes had occurred, changes that kept me from sleeping soundly. My life had actually changed dramatically the day I became the patron of the Opera Populaire. I was not certain whether the change was good or bad, but it was definitely a change.

I… well, I began to question my life. In fact, I thought I had found my life when I reunited with Christine. She remembered me as well, and it looked like a good sign. It was probably fate. She and I would have a wonderful future together. The sigh that threatened to come out was not because of doubt, it was just… Just the thought of Christine brought back good memories of times at the beach and with her father. It had seemed at that time that the only person who wanted to cultivate me into becoming my own person was her father. Christine was open and caring. She did not care about titles either. They were the family that I had wanted. She was also the closest thing to a real friend that I had. Everyone else seemed so fake to me, but then again, I was fake, too. I began to question myself, the person I had become. It was enough to plague my thoughts constantly.

I pulled the blanket up higher and hugged the pillow beside me. Curled up in a fetal position, I tried to let the warmth of my bed lull me back to sleep. I did not want to think about that so early in the morning. Sleep. That was all I wanted. I closed my eyes and listened to the early morning sounds. I let my mind drift and just when I was almost asleep, my mother knocked loudly on the door.

"Raoul, dear," my mother said with a forced sweetness. I could just imagine the sour look on her face. She also spoke louder than she needed to just to spite me, "Can I come in?"

Before I could answer, she entered the room. I was about ready to scream in frustration. Every morning ever since I had told my family that I was engaged to Christine she did this. That was five whole months. It was her own way to show that she disapproved of what I was planning to do - this as well as the numerous lectures on the proper woman a Vicomte should marry. I was reaching my breaking point, but I would not allow her the satisfaction just yet. At least she had toned her disapproval down from the first month. After seeing nothing moving forward just yet, she settled for a passive-aggressive approach to torturing me.

"Are you going to sleep the whole day away?" She asked disapprovingly. 'Disapprovingly' seemed to be a common theme nowadays with my mother. She looked around the room and picked through my stuff.

I was about to reply that she never normally woke this early, but I decided another tactic was in order.

"No mother," I replied calmly and smiled at her. I did not seem to need to force it. It was probably because I was so used to having to smile under the worst circumstances. "I'm getting up right now."

"Hmph," she replied, "A Vicomte living in such filth. Do you not have any pride?"

I took a moment to look around my room and did not see anything out of place. The maids always took care of it and I was trained enough that I could not stand having a mess either.

I tossed the blanket from my body and immediately wished I had just told her off. This tactic left me cold and awake.

My mother scowled at me. "Hurry up, breakfast is getting cold already. I have been waiting for you for quite a while."

I nodded at her, smile still in place. I was becoming a bit worried. I should not be able to smile like this so easily. Not anymore at least. Not when I knew that I did not want to smile like this. Not when I knew that I did not have a reason to smile like this. Not when I just wanted to break under the pressure.

"I'm dressing. Please, mother, I do wish to have _some_ privacy." I gently guided her to the door and let her out. I love her, I thought. She was just misguided. She just did not know. It was shallow comfort, but enough to get me through a day at a time.

She left without another word, though I could see another topic added to what I called 'the breakfast lecture.' The breakfast lecture was often followed by 'the mid-morning tea lecture.' Then, there would be 'the lunch lecture,' which was the longest and contained many of the same points from the breakfast and the mid-morning tea lectures. Luckily, after lunch I would head out to the opera house. There were places I could have gone to avoid the lectures, but when faced with the thoughts of having to mingle with the elitists that I was expected to surround myself with, I could not bear to do it. Anyway, I had work I could attend to at the supposed comfort of my own home in my office. Furthermore, the opera house did not need me until after lunch and I would not be a nuisance there unless I absolutely had to. The opera house was the source of my turmoil, and I had mixed emotions towards the place. Part of me wanted to go there, but another part absolutely wanted to stay away.

Behind the closed door, it felt as though I just deflated. The smile vanished completely and I felt a bit dazed. It was weird. I thought it had been so easy to smile, but now it seemed as though it had taken more effort than usual just to maintain it. I felt exhausted already. I looked at the bed and was torn between getting dressed like my mother expected me to and just going back to sleep.

I sighed. My mother would not stop at one morning wake up call. It would only give her too much satisfaction, so I decided to dress up. I went through the process on automatic mode. I had many activities on automatic mode nowadays. Dressing, eating, business… I paused briefly in thinking about my list. I did not know what _was not_ on the automatic mode list.

I heard a familiar loud knock on the door again.

I did not know how long I had been thinking, but it could not have been that long. Still, I knew it was my mother so I yelled, "I'm coming out right this moment."

I heard her footsteps recede, and allowed her a head start to get to the breakfast nook before I got the 'pre-breakfast lecture.' I had been stupid enough to allow that one to occur before. Not again.

I headed downstairs when I thought it was safe to leave my room, though my room was hardly a haven any longer. Turning the corner to the breakfast area, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw Philippe sitting at the table.

Philippe had been gone on business for a long time. He had not come with us to Paris when I had first become the patron of the Opera Populaire because he had more pressing and important engagements to attend to elsewhere. It was great to see him again. I quickly moved forward to shake his hand. Extending my hand, he stood up but simply stared at me.

I faltered. We were not the closest of brothers since our age difference, but this reception was downright cold. I looked across the table and saw my mother's smug look. It epiphanied on me that this breakfast lecture would be the worst.

Philippe had a stern look in his eyes that I had not noticed in my excitement to see him. He had not changed at all actually. He reminded me so much of what little I could remember of our father that it was disturbing and I knew that they were so much alike that they would have clashed often had my father still been alive. I had been young, barely six or seven when my father had died. Philippe had been older than I was at that time, around twenty. The fourteen-year difference always made the separation between us natural. Then, compound that with the fact that Philippe had begun to act more like a father than a brother estranged us further. Now, ten years later, it seemed nothing had changed. I had once thought that when we were older it would change. Then, when we were separated and I began to take on more responsibilities, such as becoming the patron, I thought that we would be past that stage of our lives when he had to act like a father. It seemed as though nothing had changed at all.

"Imagine my surprise," Philippe began, his voice deathly calm. I knew that calmness belied a more violent anger that I had been on the receiving end too many times when I was still but a child. He continued with the same tone, "When I receive a letter from mother stating that you are engaged to a chorus girl."

I tried not to feel too betrayed. If anyone would understand, it had to be Philippe. At least one person in my family had to understand. I knew about his indiscretions with singers, dancers and a lot with less of a reputation than those. I did not judge him about that. I did not understand how he could judge me about this.

"Marriage!" He raised his voice and it took everything in me not to cringe away like I used to as a child. I managed to reduce it to a flinch. The reaction had been ingrained in me as a youth, as so many other actions had. "You will not marry this-this chorus girl. You are a Vicomte. You _will not _marry beneath your station."

His reprimand somehow felt worst than my mother's did. I did not realize until that moment how much stock I put in my brother's opinion. Still, there was some hope in me. Maybe he did not realize who that chorus girl really was. I moved forward and practically implored him to understand, "It's not just any chorus girl. She's not even a chorus girl anymore. She's a prima donna," I knew I was babbling but he had to understand.

He cut me off, "I don't care what she is now. She will always be a lowly chorus girl. I just thank God you haven't announced it officially."

"It's Christine!" I practically yelled. Both Philippe and mother were staring at me strangely. I had never raised my voice at them before. "It's Christine Daae, brother," I reiterated in a softer voice. I searched his face for some sign of understanding.

Philippe replied, unfazed, "Yes, mother had included her name in the letter. That was that girl from the beach, was it not?"

"Yes," I nodded. Philippe's expression was still neutral. I could not tell what he was thinking.

Philippe shared a look with mother. Speaking to her, he said, "You were right."

I looked between them confused.

"You said we shouldn't have let him spend time with that family, but I thought it would be good for him to have friends his age while we were there," Philippe looked disappointed.

My mother nodded her head smugly.

I looked between them and felt despair. Betrayal was painful.

I would have argued for Christine's sake, but I did not think it was ever really about her in particular. It was never about the person with my family. It was about standing. I could have sung Christine's praises until my throat was raw, but I was certain they would not care. Sadly though, a part of me also did not want to even try to convince them. I felt as though it was a lost cause, and I was already starting to doubt my love for her. I was already starting to doubt the engagement, but to admit it to my brother and mother would have given the idea that I had succumbed to their views. I would not marry her out of spite for them, but I would not announce my thoughts of separation just yet.

But to hear them speak of a time of my life, which I hold so dear to me as a mistake, was beyond understanding. It was worse than betrayal. I was speechless.

Philippe turned his attention back on me, "You are to cancel that engagement. You are a Vicomte. A _Vicomte_, Raoul. Who are you without that title?"

And that was where the problem laid. I feared the day when I stopped playing these roles, when I stopped being a Vicomte, a patron, a fiancé, a hero because I was certain that that day would be the last day of my life. For if I was none of these things, life as I knew it would essential cease to exist. My life would cease to exist. I did not know who I was without that title without any title, but I was damn well sure that Philippe and my mother were the last people I wanted to define who I was. Not anymore.

"I know!" I raised my voice once again, fully yelling now. Philippe stopped talking and he looked a bit shocked. "I know I'm a Vicomte, Philippe. You are the Comte and I, the Vicomte de Chagny. I am also more than that."

Philippe looked as though to reply, but I cut him off before he could even begin.

"_You_ will not be the one to tell me who I am or am not, and more importantly, you will not tell me who I will marry. I am my own person and I have upheld my position as well as you have." I emphasized the last part, and even though I felt low to bring up his indiscretions, I had not been thinking reasonably when I had spoken. It was only a subtle jibe that was brought on because of the topic at hand, and I was not certain Philippe understood what I was implying. Seeing the appalled look on his face, Philippe _had_ caught the undertone of my words though my mother had failed to notice him falter.

We stared at each other, no words needed. Then suddenly, Philippe stormed out of the breakfast area leaving my mother baffled as to what had transpired. I was glad he had left because I had been contemplating storming out of the room myself. However, I thought that I would have lost some of my emphasis by looking as though I was running away. I had won this round, but I knew that Philippe would retaliate soon enough. I was suddenly glad that my mother was in the room. Philippe would not do anything physically to me when she was present, but there would be a time when she was not around. _I_ did not want to be around when that time came. I never had the strength to hit Philippe back. To me, it was like hitting a parent. It did not seem right.

Instead, I grabbed a pastry from the table and left the house as soon as I could. I heard my mother try to call me, but I did not bother to slow down.

I got on my horse and rode away. Technically, I was still running away, but I felt more justified this time. I did not know where I would go. I would have to wait until a more decent hour before I would be able to really go anywhere, but being outside of the house was all I needed.

I let my horse wander wherever he wanted to and let my mind drift.

How could a homecoming be so horrible? More importantly, why couldn't Philippe understand what I was going through? True, Philippe had yet to marry anyone himself, but he had to understand wanting someone to be there for you. I wanted someone with whom I could really confide. I could not talk with my family because they were part of the problem. I had no closer friends with whom I could share my problems. Then, there was Christine. She was someone I hoped I could open up to. Someone I hoped would listen and see who I was. It was embarrassing for me to admit, but I was a romantic.

When I had been younger and my father was still alive, my mother used to tell me fairytales of handsome young princes going off to find adventure and save damsels in distress. I particularly liked those stories of fighting evil, upholding beauty and love, and finding someone that was undeniably meant for you. Someone who would automatically understand what you needed and wanted.

Most of the time, I was the prince in shining armor fighting dragons and knights and monsters. Other times, times I would not tell anyone about, I would be the person being saved. I guess I had some hold on reality even then. I knew that I was no knight in shining armor. I was no hero. I was too weak. I needed saving. I needed someone to save me from the monsters and villains. It was nice to dream that someone would.

And now, I knew for certain I was weak. I had tried to be a saviour and failed miserably. I knew Christine depended on me, but I had already failed her once. The only thing that had prevented me from saving her was a door. A door. If I could not overcome a door, I doubted my ability to save her from a man that had already killed someone in the middle of an opera. I had promised her though. I had told her I loved her and promised her. I promised her a future filled with light, filled with joy, filled with laughter. I could not provide any of that. I could see nothing but darkness, feel nothing but despair, and wanted nothing more than to cry.

After my infancy, I had only cried once in my life. It had been at my father's funeral. I could not stop crying, and nothing anyone tried to do could make me stop. However, that was also the day that Philippe started his role as my substitute father. It was the first day he beat me. He had repeatedly beaten me saying 'men do not cry' over and over again like a mantra. It was a rhythm as his fists kept falling, and somewhere in the midst of the pain, I had stopped crying. Philippe was smart though. He kept his punches to my torso so that no one could see the bruises. He beat the tears out of me forever, and even to this day, my mother knew nothing of his lesson.

That was not the only lesson that he gave though. I had scars on my back for a time when I was ten and forgot to properly greet other social elite at a gathering. The reed left welts and gashes on my back that did not stop bleeding until weeks later. He would not let anyone tend to my wounds so I had to clean it myself. That was the main reason I still had the scars to this day. I could feel it on my back whenever I put enough pressure on it. It was the main reason I never slept on my back. I tried not to feel it, but it was ever-present in the back of my mind. I had another scar running across my thigh that had been made when Philippe had been in a fit of rage. My mother had been very sick, and Philippe had been taking it particularly hard. I got in his way and all I really remember was searing pain radiating from my leg and the letter opener in my brother's hand. He tended to the wound himself and told me if I had not provoked him, it would not have happened. I believed him. My hand often drifted to lie on the scar through my pants when I was not paying attention. I pressed my hand harder into my thigh. I could feel it clearly. It reminded me of all my failings and shortcomings.

I believed I was completely at fault for everything that had gone badly in life. I believed it unconditionally until I started to doubt about everything in my life. It was the one main benefit of questioning my life so completely. It made me question how Philippe had treated me. It was in the past though. Philippe had a lot of pressure on him then. I could let it pass. It was partly my fault as well.

When my father died and my mother stopped telling me stories, I dreamed even harder, hoped beyond all reason, and desired completely that someone would save me. Philippe's lessons had only made me wish for my own knight even more.

Each of those lessons I had to endure without tears. I had not even had the urge to cry after that first beating. The thought never crossed my mind. Philippe had effectively ensured I would never cry again. Not forever though because I was reaching my breaking point. Although I could not cry, I was starting to want to. I needed some sort of release. I needed something that would be my way out. The tears would not come though.

That would have made a great impression on everyone else though – to see a Vicomte crying like a little boy. A 'boy,' that was what Christine's tutor had called me. I was not even considered a proper foe in his eyes. I did not think I was either. I did not think I was going to be able to put up much of a fight against him. In these past months, I started to believe in him completely. I had told Christine that there was no phantom, but there was no other logical explanation for it. I had heard the rumors and brushed them off. However, Christine was adamant and I could not believe she had just imagined it all. I did not believe that the opera ghost was an actual ghost but he had his own means that made him as dangerous as a ghost. He seemed to have no physical limits – none that I had seen yet at least. It was true that I could handle a sword and when it came to a challenge I would not stand down, but that did not mean I would not lose. What we were fighting with were our lives, and I did not want to lose that just yet.

Luckily, said man was off in hiding still. He had disappeared completely, and I did not know whether to be relieved or be on guard lest he was waiting for the perfect moment to show himself.

My horse stopped walking and I found myself in front of the opera house. I glared at the horse. I had not wanted to come here, but at least it was later in the morning. I dismounted and brought him myself to the stables. No one was around. It made sense since the opera house was still under construction fixing the chandelier and no one visited unless they had an appointment.

I entered the opera house hoping no one saw me. I did not know where I was exactly headed, but I tried to walk as quickly and quietly as I could to that destination. Anywhere but in the open foyer where anyone could easily spot me.

I thought I had made it unnoticed when I heard Andre yell, "Vicomte!"

Frowning, I stopped mid-stride and listened as two pairs of footsteps came closer. When they were close, I turned around and smiled genially at them.

Firmin commented, "You are quite early this morning. We were heading to the office just now and saw you."

Andre leaned forward grinning conspiratorially before loudly whispering, "Were you heading in or out?"

I forced my smile wider, "I was just heading in."

Firmin gave Andre a dirty look and a nudge, but let it pass. Andre straightened up and shrugged his shoulders, "Well, that's just as good too. Did you need anything in particular? You do not usually come until later."

"I didn't have any other previous engagements today and I decided to try and spend some time with Christine," the lie slipped easily past my lips. I could not tell them I was running away from home.

I noticed the look they shared between them. I had almost forgotten that Christine had wanted to keep our engagement a secret. Maybe she had doubts as well. At least, I had not said fiancé. It did not matter anyway. The managers already thought I had a fling going on with Christine. They had said as much when the notes had been sent. I did not bother to care what they thought though. However, there did seem to be an advantage to Christine's secrecy. If I broke off the engagement now, no one else would know about it.

"I see," Firmin replied, his eyebrow raised. He cleared his throat before continuing, "We have some papers that we would like you to look at. Some of the documents for the masquerade we spoke about last time. We need some funds to be approved and signed by you."

Hearing my cue, I began to walk again and as expected they followed along, "Sorry gentlemen, but it _is_ still quite early in the morning. Shall we conduct our business at some appropriate hour? Maybe after lunch?" I offered. I had immediately gone into business mode, and my tone said that I was not making a suggestion. I did not mind this role so much. As the patron, I at least had some control and standing. I also had a knack at running a business. It all seemed so logical to me.

"Okay, then later," Andre and Firmin stopped walking and let me go on.

I relaxed as I listened to their footsteps receding. I slowed down, too. I had been walking briskly just to get away, but I was really in no rush anymore. I finally decided to go to my box and just sit there until I was actually needed. I just wanted some alone time. Having my destination, I headed there when I passed some of the ballet dancers.

I did not know their names even though Christine often spoke about them. Like a proper gentleman, I stood to one side of the hallway and bowed as they passed. They giggled to each other and scurried away.

I continued down the hallway, but I could hear them as they spoke to each other.

"He's so handsome," one said.

"And he's the patron, so that means he must have a lot of money," another added.

"Yes, he's a Vicomte. Of course he has a lot of much money."

"I would marry him."

One scoffed, "You'd marry him even if he wasn't handsome. It's all about money."

"The rich have such bad personalities though. He doesn't seem much better."

"I would still marry him…"

I missed the rest of the conversation when they finally turned a corner. I was used to being spoken of behind my back, but for some reason, this annoyed me greatly. I felt agitated and could not help but feel distressed about it. I understood that I had title and money, but I hated being lumped in such a stereotype as all rich people having bad personalities. They knew nothing about me, and still they were judging me.

I suddenly wanted to see Christine. I needed to see her. She would not judge me like that. She would talk with me, and I would feel better. I had to feel better. I was only feeling like this because no one saw me. No one looked at me without seeing someone else. Christine would not do that. It was why I loved her so much. I hoped that she would not be like that.

In these past five months, we had not acted any different from friends. Of course, Christine would speak about marriage in a voice that did not sound quite excited but sounded like she was trying to sound excited. We had not even kissed again. The first time I tried, she turned her head so I kissed her cheek. Now, I pecked her on the cheek every time we parted, but nothing more. She did not ask and I had been waiting for her to say it was alright. It was awkward and I no longer tried to kiss her. I doubted her love for me just as I doubted my love for her. Could I love her when I did not even know who she really was? When I did not know what she was thinking? When I did not know who she saw when she looked at me?

I tried though. I tried these past five months to be everything she wanted of me. I listened to her. I tried to learn everything about her, but she would never talk of anything beyond frivolities. It was either because she knew nothing else, which I highly doubted, or because she did not trust me enough. She did not think I could understand. I had tried to talk to her about it, but she would just continue to talk as though I had not spoken at all. I did not think she had once asked anything about me these past months. She had not asked what had happened after we had parted. Although I knew her biography by now, I knew she was concealing facts from me. She 'accidentally' left out the part when she first met the opera ghost and I did not bother to ask her to elaborate. If she wanted to keep secrets, I did not want to force them out of her. She did however reference him when she spoke of her tutor, though she never did specify that it was him. It was probably because her tutor and the opera ghost were separate in her mind. I did not correct that thought though I thought differently.

I was thankful that we had to restrict our meetings for about an hour after lunchtime because it seemed as though Christine could talk nonstop for hours. I did not mind. She would smile and laugh and I would be able to forget about my worries for a while. As long as she was happy, I thought I could be happy too. I wanted the best for her, but I started to doubt whether I was the person who would make her the most happy. It pained me but when she spoke of her tutor, her eyes lit up in a way that it never did when she saw me. I did not know whether it was because of the music or something else, but it was a look I wanted someone to have when they thought of me.

I did not know what to do. I could not remain engaged to her, but I was still reluctant to lose this title. I could not give up being a fiancé just yet. Something had to push me forward.

I had rushed to her room and knocking on the door, I heard no answer. I knocked again, a little worried. With the thought that she could be in danger, I entered the room. No one was in it. It made sense that she would be out having breakfast or doing other things. I could not help but feel silly for my irrationality. My paranoia was starting to catch up with me. I would have to be a little more trusting. We were free. The opera ghost was nowhere in sight and I still had time to ponder my next step. I sat down and decided to wait for her. I had initially wanted to be alone; at least I could spend this time to just think.

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End ch01

word count: 5,615

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

That was pretty long, right? I was trying very hard to make it interesting since I was being mean to Raoul. I think that is all I needed to say. Oh, wait.

I'm thinking of finding a beta because I was re-reading some of my other fics and there are mistakes that are so blatantly obvious I definitely should have caught them. I tend to glaze over when I re-read my stories. I don't know. I've always been a little iffy about it. What do you think? It wouldn't hurt, but would it really be worth it? I usually write a chapter throughout the week piece by piece whenever I find the time and on the weekend cement it down then post it. I re-read it every time but I still miss things. I would not want the wait time between sending it to someone and posting. I don't know though. If you think my typos are horrible, then maybe I'll consider it. I would appreciate feedback on this.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Both Raoul and Erik reach their breaking points in a life hid behind masks.

Warning(s): bad language (partly the author's fault)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I just realized that these two chapters really seem a lot like AMFAO chapters (don't make me write out the title! --'). So no story notes. Thanks for everyone who reviewed. To the first few reviewers:

psychonerd5 – yeah, I really made Philippe a bastard in this one. I should have put it in the 'warnings' when I first posted, but I corrected that error. Raoul angst is just too tempting. Thanks for both your reviews (the one for AMFAO)  
xdark.flowerx – Raoul does get picked on by everyone, but we do it out of love! Thanks for your feedback on the beta, too.  
PuppetofDreams – I think I know the feeling… I break out in smiles when I see a review in! Hope this update was quick enough, right:o)  
whatevergirl – I had just outlined about half of the story and I am entirely brutal to Raoul in this fic. He needs more hugs! I'm almost reluctant to do it to him, but not really. Thanks for the review!

Story note… I guess I do have one:  
Christine – she's not stupid in this one. It's amazing, but she still is a bitch. One day I may write a story in which she's a good character, but not right now.  
General – I am taking major liberties in this fic. I just want to remind you of that fact. I don't know Christine's past, or Raoul's for that matter, or much of anything besides what I remember from the movie and onstage.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 02

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

o.o.o

I sat at my organ, eyes closed and my fingers drifting across the keys, though it was more like pounding on the keys. I was frustrated. I had been working for five months non-stop on this opera and it was almost complete. Almost. Almost, but not quite. That word was driving me insane. I was almost done. Every note I played, every word I sang was horrible. It was _almost_ what I wanted. It was _not_ what I was looking for though. I would accept nothing but perfection. I would not allow myself to do any less than the best. I would not let Don Juan Triumphant be lacking in such an important scene.

Nothing was working though. Nothing sounded correct. There were only so many keys and I knew every note combination in my head, yet nothing seemed to fit. This song I was writing seemed to call for all the passion I had within me, but there was nothing there any more. I was losing my inspiration. I was losing the drive that had carried me through the last five months… that had carried me through the past six days without sleep.

I was exhausted, but I could not sleep. Whenever I slept, I saw them on that rooftop. Whenever I stopped for just a moment to think, I saw them on that rooftop. I saw the kiss. I saw her betray me. I saw my life laid in front of me. I saw it all. I saw loneliness, hatred, and pain. I saw pain the clearest.

I saw all those things, but that was not the reason I feared stopping. I was used to all those things. I wanted to escape from them but I knew them intimately enough to know that running from them would do me no good. I did not want to sleep. I did not want to stop working because I had been having doubts. I had so much anger the first four months that I could think of nothing but my hatred and my desire to get Christine back. I slept, ate, and worked within that mindset. It consumed me completely. I did not leave my home. I barely left my organ. The only reason I had food or even ate was because of Madame Giry. I would not let her in but she would leave food as far as she could take the paths she knew.

Then, a month ago, _it _happened. I had been asleep and I dreamt of that rooftop again. It was a recurring dream that only really served to drive me forward. It spurred the inspiration I needed to work so hard on the opera. It had given me ideas and the plot.

Not this time though. I was behind that horse statue, listening to Christine's and Raoul's passionate song of love and devotion. I listened to their hopes and I did not feel the anger or the betrayal. I was looking at her and I felt nothing. She looked back at me, more like past me, and it was like looking at someone I did not know. However, I _did_ know her. It was as though up until that moment, I had only been seeing my concept of her. I had never really seen her. Then, I looked at Raoul and something startled me, but I could never remember what I saw that did so. I took a step backwards and it felt as though I had fallen off the roof. I woke up then.

I had tried so hard to remember what I had seen that made me fall, but the only thing I could remember clearly from that dream was Christine. I could only _see _her. It was this dream that drove me away from my work. I raced to her room and just stood there watching her. I saw her and I felt my old doubts about her climbing up to the surface. I wanted that life, did I not? I wanted her because she would be the only person I could possibly have. I wanted her to see me and to trust that I was more than just a monster with a broken past.

I had returned down to my organ and continued to compose. The month passed with me clinging onto that hope, that desire. I was working with old anger and shallow hopes. It was like before, but not quite, almost. My hatred and passion had dimmed to something that was a shadow of what it once was. My inspiration dwindled. I managed to push forward though. I managed to make headway with my opera. I ate only when I could feel the fatigue and hunger slow me down. I slept only as much as I needed to.

My sleep was disrupted. I was having a long bout with a twisted kind of insomnia. Every time I drifted asleep, I would be jolted awake by a falling dream. It was no random falling dream. It was the ending to _that _dream – the fall that had been the result of seeing dream-Raoul. Now, I could not sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time. I struggled against sleeping after a while because I hated the feeling of helplessness that came with the dream. I hated waking up with my stomach in my throat, my heart racing and a yell dying on my lips. I could not work for at least an hour after waking because I would be on edge. My heart would refuse to slow down, and my hands would shake violently. I resolved to not fall asleep again.

However, I could not rest either. Whenever I let my mind wander, I would think about Christine and him. I would start to wonder if I loved Christine as much as the Vicomte seemed to. I wondered about their future because I did not want to think of my own. Christine had betrayed me, and yet I was still pining for her. Not so much pining, as I was trying to take back what I wanted. What I wanted though did not seem to be what Christine was. I wanted someone to see past the deformity, the past, and the cold exterior demeanor. I knew I was different from those who lived in the light, but I was no monster. I wanted someone to be with me. I needed someone to see me. Christine did not provide me what I wanted… well, almost. She almost was everything I wanted. She knew what I looked like but she knew my voice could let her soul sour. She was attracted to that. Maybe that attraction was enough. Maybe it would be enough of a passage to let her see the true me. To see past the monster and the mask and the face that had me hidden from the whole world. She had seen my sadness and my plea for help. She had seen it and almost responded. Almost. Almost, before fleeing to the Vicomte. If that was any indication, she would only ever almost save me.

I tried not to let these thoughts continue because I was writing this opera in order to take Christine back. I could not lose my desire to have her or else I would not be able to finish my opera. However, that did not seem to matter anymore. I could not write. I could not make the notes flow like it normally did from my fingertips. The music was attached to my heart. Everything I felt flowed from it to the keys. I was lost because my love for Christine was lost. I no longer loved her, and my desire to have her was waning as well. It did not bode well.

I decided to leave my home again. It had been a month since I was last above ground. I stretched my muscles and tried to shake off the need to go to sleep. I considered allowing myself some rest in hopes that I would not be woken up twenty minutes later, but the last time I fell asleep had been one of the worst. I did not calm down for three hours. I sat on the shore staring at the water. I watched the candlelight dance upon the lake while I cradled my shaking hands. My breaths were short and I started to feel lightheaded, but luckily, it faded. I thought I was going to die. Almost did.

I walked faster. The further away from my home I got, the less suffocated I started to feel. I did not really know where I was headed, but the movement was starting to make me feel better. Following the familiar paths made me feel like myself again. I stopped walking immediately. It 'made me feel like myself again'? I was trying to stop being the phantom. I was trying to stop being the monster. I was trying to stop being the villain. Yet, I was all those things. They were roles I could not seem to escape. They were roles I just played without any consideration. It could not be who I was. There had to be someone I would have been had I not had this deformity. There had to be someone I could have been and could still be even with my current circumstances.

Frustrated, I screamed as loudly as I could. It echoed down the empty passageway. As if in reply, I heard a chorus of screams from beyond the wall I was standing by. I looked at the wall and realized it was an exit I rarely took because it led directly into a hallway. Hallways were not exits I took often because they were the most revealing place from which to emerge. I leaned my ear to the frame and listened closely.

"Was that?" One of the chorus girls asked.

Of course, I thought to myself, it would be chorus girls. They always screamed at the slightest indication of my existence. Although I would admit, my scream was anything but slight. If they were wandering the hallways, it was either in the morning or in the evening. Since they rarely traveled through the opera house at night because of the opera ghost circumstance, I was able to at least discern the time of day. I always lost track of time in front of my organ, but especially now so since I had not slept in days.

"It was the opera ghost, of course." Another said as though it was stupid to think otherwise.

I had to agree with her. Who else could it have been?

"That murderer? I thought he had left for good."

"Shh, don't say things like that. He's probably listening right now."

"He murdered already. That monster!"

"Of course, you've heard about his face haven't you?"

"Horrible deformity. No nose. It's ghastly."

"I think you're only saying that because we just saw the Vicomte," she giggled, "Rich and handsome. Anyone compared to that would be considered a monster."

"Nope. He's just a monster. It's a fact of the opera house."

I felt the urge to rip that painting from the wall and wring my hands around that little opera rat's neck. Maybe I could kill all of them. Instead, I continued to walk. I was no monster. I pushed forward. Maybe I would go outside to get a breath of fresh air. I needed to calm down.

Taking a passageway past the managers' office, I paused to see what they were planning.

"We really need the Vicomte's signature on this," Andre indicated to a piece of paper.

Firmin nodded dismissively. He was looking through some documents and didn't bother to look up, "You heard the man though. He said that we should not bother him until after lunch."

Andre started to pace. He looked around suspiciously before leaning forward. I leaned forward as well in anticipation. "Do you think he is having an affair with Mlle. Daae?"

"Of course they are," Firmin said. "The Vicomte has been here everyday." As an afterthought he added, "Although he has been with us most of the time and the rest of the time he was overseeing and helping with the construction."

Both managers paused to think about this.

"Hah," Andre exclaimed, "We were probably mistaken. They show no affection for each other than the friendship he had once mentioned."

Firmin shrugged. I could tell he still had doubts about whether the Vicomte and Christine were more than friends.

This was interesting news though. I had holed myself in the cellar of the opera house so that I had not been keeping track of the Vicomte's whereabouts. So, the boy had been traipsing around my opera house unhindered. I would have to remedy that eventually. Moreover, I was surprised that they had not announced their engagement. If Andre and Firmin did not know about it, then I doubted that anyone else would. The managers liked to be well informed of the events occurring in the Opera Populaire, especially if it could affect their money flow. I wondered why after the affection they showed each other on the rooftop that night they would not announce their engagement. I had thought that they would run away and go off to elope. Seeing as that did not happen, it was strange that they had not at least made it known.

However, the more interesting of news was the fact that the Vicomte and Christine were not spending much time together. Unless they were really good at hiding it, I believed the managers when they said that the patron had not been spending more than appropriate time with my pupil. I wondered whose doing it was. Was it because Raoul did not want others to know? Or was it because Christine did not really want to marry the Vicomte? There were a million reasons they might not be spending time together, but I could hope that it was the latter of my thoughts. It would be much easier to steal Christine away if she was willing. I doubted that she would be completely willing though. From what I could tell, Christine was probably just reluctant to announce it. I had been a very large presence in her life and this was a big decision for her. She knew I would know. She knew that I would catch wind of their engagement and she did not want to anger me further with announcing it publicly.

It was difficult to explain why I would come to this conclusion. Christine thought about me. She thought about me enough to give me hope, but it was not the way I wanted. She thought of me, thought of her angel before she made any actions because I was a tool. I was merely a vehicle for her to obtain her dreams. I had always been her angel. The one promised by her father because it was convenient for her to believe that was who I was. It had been convenient for me at the time to be an angel as well, but I did not want to keep that pretense up. She would never allow it to fall though. She would not see beyond that, and I knew I could manipulate her with it. I could manipulate her with my voice and she would follow. I could do it, but I could not keep the pretense up forever. I could not be an angel – not in pretending and definitely not in real life. It was not who I was and I refused to be forever seen that way. I could only handle so many lies.

Surprisingly enough though, Christine was calculating. I had not realized it until _that_ dream. All the information was there in front of my eyes, but I ignored them. I did not want to think of her as such. She was not as innocent as everyone thought she was. She was not stupid. I had realized too late that she had manipulated me as well. I had let it pass since I had done the same to her, but she could act. She could act the part of the hesitant singer, the damsel in distress, the repentant student, the awestruck girl when in fact she was merely reacting to your actions in a way to get the reaction she wanted.

I had not wanted to show myself to her. I had not been ready, but when she apologized and asked to see me. She made it seem and sound as though it had been originally my idea. I was stupid enough to think it _had_ been my idea. I thought the only reason I was not revealing myself to her was because she was not ready. That was not the case at all. _I_ had not been ready. Then for some reason, I had been convinced that she would see past my face and she didn't. I had definitely not been ready to take her to my lair.

I knew everything about Christine. I watched her constantly. I knew the little girl who had come here as an orphan – who had played the orphan card to be welcomed with open arms to the Opera Populaire, who could make the most pitiful face and cry on command, but who also only really cried to herself at nights, and who had smiled cheerfully and acted as though she had not lost the only family she had a mere few days later. I knew the young girl who I tutored to sing like an angel – who knew not to anger me, who knew the words to say so that I would comfort her when I wanted to scold her, who flattered me often when she was behaving poorly and not putting enough effort into her singing, who knew I was no angel, but who also knew I could cultivate a voice in her that no one else alive would be able to do. I knew the young woman she had become. She was intelligent and beautiful. She was also self-absorbed and a manipulative opportunist. She knew how to play the ultimate role. She could be whoever you wanted her to be, as long as it benefited her.

What did I want with her? What could she provide me? But I knew the answer to that. As long as I could provide her my voice, she would be who I wanted her to be. It would be perfect… almost.

I got pulled out of my thoughts when Andre began to speak again.

"About this masquerade," Andre began tentatively, "do we really need the Vicomte's money?"

Firmin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Considering the fact that we don't have to pay that monster anymore," Andre trailed off.

"Don't say things like that," Firmin chided, "He could be listening."

"Oh," Andre waved it off, "He has yet to show himself in five months. He is a monster. He is no longer asking for payment. Those are just facts."

I watched this all in a detached manner. I felt no anger right now actually. My mind was half on my previous thoughts of Christine. I shoved those back in order to pay attention. However, I could already feel a plan hatching. A masquerade was a perfect place to have a grand entrance, to make _my_ grand entrance. It was perfect timing too – that was, as long as I could finish my opera before then. I felt like yelling again. I was almost done, but I knew that right at this moment as I was, I would not be able to complete it satisfactorily.

"We may not need the Vicomte's money right now, but in the future we will probably need the money he's providing," Firmin stated, "He does not need to know we have enough money saved."

Andre nodded acquiescently. I could tell he was unsure about lying to their major contributor, but he would not say anything. He trusted Firmin enough.

Firmin added seeing that Andre was not entirely convinced, "It's for a rainy day, Andre.

That settled it. It was going to be a very interesting masquerade. I knew that these managers were ruthless businessmen, but I had not realized they were also unscrupulous. They would need to be taught a lesson. I left before I could do something unhealthy to them. It was tempting, but I knew I had to wait until the masquerade because that would be the culmination of my time and effort. It would be perfect.

I was feeling less weighed down as I had before, but now I was agitated. First, the chorus girls had managed to annoy me and then, the managers anger me. I could feel some of that familiar passion returning, but it was not enough. I could not hear the music in my head. I could not write. Not yet at least.

I continued on my way to my original destination. I headed to the roof.

If I wanted to move forward, I would have to find a way to move beyond that defining moment on the rooftop. I would need to see that there was nothing left there but my memories – memories that would fade in time. I had a future to build. I had a new person to become, and I could not allow myself to be dragged down by a past that I had no control over. I would control who I was. I would now control the person I became.

I paused in front of the door that led to the roof. It was one thing to say these things to myself, but it was another thing to step onto the roof where I vowed to have my revenge against those people who so utterly destroyed a large part of who I had been. They had destroyed my hopes. They had shattered my future, and unknowingly, too. At least unknowingly for the Vicomte, but as for Christine, she knew I was there. She did not care. She might though. She might have cared enough to try to keep it a secret. She might not care though. My hand hesitated and hovered above the door handle.

I would not let my doubts cloud my mind. I had to push forward.

I opened the door and suddenly felt a wave of vertigo hit me. The floor spun around me. I clung to the door desperately. It swung forward and I stumbled forward as well onto the rooftop. The door closed with a loud _BANG!_ It echoed loudly in my ears. Words echoed loudly in my ears. _I'm here._ I stumbled and tried to keep my balance. _Nothing can… _I thought I saw someone standing there watching me. _…can harm you._ Instead, I saw the horse statue prancing before my eyes. _Promise me._ Words echoing. _All I want._ I could feel myself tilting. _Your shelter_. I held my hands out to break my fall, but I landed on my side instead. _You're safe._ I skidded to a halt and still the ground was not still. _Beside me._ It felt as though I was riding a horse. _Anywhere you go_. Up and down. _Hold me_. I needed the words to stop. _Hide me. _The words needed to stop. _Say the words. _Up and down. _Each day._ The statues danced around me. _Each night._ I could feel the nausea rising up. _Each morning._ I grabbed my head, but it steadied nothing. _I ask of you. _It quieted nothing. _Let…_ I looked up, and belatedly realized that was a stupid idea. _Me…_ I felt even dizzier. _Be…_ The blue sky was bright to my eyes. _Your…_ My eyes watered, and I told myself it was because of the sun, because of the nausea. _Freedom. _It blinded me for a moment and it was only in that moment that everything stopped moving. Freedom.

I laid on the floor incapacitated. I didn't care if anyone found me. I had no such worries. I was torn between grabbing my head and my stomach. I felt the dizziness ready to resurface and I did not want to move at all. I did not want to provoke it. I rolled myself to lie on my back though. The world spun momentarily before righting itself again. I could feel blood dripping down my face and hands from the fall. I had to fall on the side of my face that didn't have the porcelain mask on it. I had to scrape the side of my face that was actually normal.

Freedom.

I stared at the sky. It had saved me. The sky, the light saved me. I didn't know what to think. I tried not to actually. I feared the thoughts would disrupt my mind again.

Freedom.

I realized belatedly my breaths were shaky. I laughed deprecatingly at myself. So much for getting a breath of fresh air. That was worse than the falling dreams. It might have actually only tied. I could feel my body calming already. The recovery time for those dreams were worse, but at least falling didn't last that long and didn't mess with my mind.

Freedom.

Was that freedom? The words I had heard had haunted me ever since that night. Haunted my dreams. Haunted my thoughts. Haunted my every breath. To have those words spoken to me would be… it would be… it would be a nice dream to have come true.

My heart slowed down to normal. I still stared at the sky. I was reluctant to move. I forced myself to sit up anyway. I looked around the empty roof quickly scanning as I suddenly realized that I could have been caught. No one was around though. I looked around more slowly and was surprised when I felt nothing but relief. The experience had erased my feelings towards that night. I stared at the exact spot they had declared their love for one another. I saw the image in my head.

I felt nothing but a slight jealousy. Not of the Vicomte though. Maybe of Christine. To have those words spoken to me would be incredible. To have that love and devotion. To have anyone would be nice. I stared at the empty spot and could imagine them in each other's arms.

Devotion.

Love.

Freedom.

I stood up and brushed off the dust and pebbles that I had on me. I could ignore the blood. It didn't hurt very much either.

I felt strange – kind of empty and open. I didn't feel any hatred, pain, anger, sadness, or jealousy. It was as if my mind was clear. For the first time in my life, I realized there were others I could have. I was certain that I didn't want Christine. I could have someone else – someone who was everything I wanted.

_Let me be your freedom._

I shook my head. Who else could I have? Who else would have me? I would have Christine. I had to or else I would be alone for the rest of my life. I felt the clarity leave, but I would rather be practical and have someone than clear headed and alone. It was a fact, was it not? I was a monster. Christine was the only one who had seen me and still had something nice to say about me. She had to be the one.

I had to finish my opera. To find my inspiration, I decided to stop by her room. Heading out, I looked back one more time. Still nothing, but I felt a little remorse for letting myself return to person I had once been. I promised to myself that I would return here and find the clarity I wanted. I would change after I finished this opera. I feared that without my anger, without my jealousy and passion, I would not be able to finish my opera. I would not be who I was. I would lose the talent I had. Artists found their voice through their pain and if I had clarity, where would the words come from? Where would the notes come from? For the moment, I would let myself be the monster. I would let myself be the villain. I needed to finish this opera. Then, I could become the person I wanted to be.

I nodded to myself and shut the door reluctantly. I did not think clarity would be there the next time I opened the door. It already felt lost to me. _I_ suddenly felt lost.

But I knew where I was heading. I was heading to Christine's room to find some inspiration. She was my inspiration, wasn't she? She was the reason I needed to finish this opera. She was my goal. She was my freedom… almost.

o.o.o.o

End ch02

word count: 4,804

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o.o.o.o.o.o

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

I know I said that they wouldn't be interacting yet, and they won't, but just to let you know, there will be some better action coming soon, though I thought this chapter was interesting.

What else? I was going to say… Ahh… I'm busy this weekend. Like really busy. Which is the main reason why I'm posting this one right now because even though my week is a little lighter than last week (it's actually a lot lighter), this weekend is going to be hard for me to get any writing done. It's going to be horrible and impossible actually. So it's either finish this now and try to get another chapter in before Friday or you'll just have to wait until next week (which is also going to suck, but at least that weekend will be free… they seem to interchange in suckiness). I don't know how fast I can write and how much I will, so it'll be a crapshoot, okay? Just wanted you to know. This chapter was pretty quick, but an update will be difficult to achieve.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Visiting Christine.

Warning(s): mentions of abuse again (sorry, Raoul!)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story Notes: Okay, so by now hopefully you get what I'm going to be doing with this story, not plot wise, but how I'm writing it. I'm going to switch POV's between Erik and Raoul though there is a guest POV that's popped up, but it'll be parallel action. So, that means that in action that has both of them together it will have major overlap. I just wanted you to know that because they're eventually going to share a scene (sort of like this chapter) and it'll seem a bit on the repetitive side.

Second story note: This story is surprisingly character driven. I hope my characterization of them isn't completely off base; I don't think I've done anything egregious to them (except some people may say making them gay is, but still). It's also slow. Like, when I'm writing it, I'm partly thinking why isn't there one of those good parts (that I know is coming) in this chapter. Not to say that each chapter doesn't have a good part. I'm just used to a lot of action and a lot less thinking. I guess that's it.

A/N: Well, yeah, the weekend sucked. I was out of the house and working from morning to evening with only enough time to eat and shower. Too much work to catch up on. I keep falling asleep… damn that whole having to sleep thing. --' Yeah, and I keep meaning to title these chapters because it just doesn't seem right to me for them not to have names, but I figure I'll just let that pet peeve slip by. You can figure out the theme I'm working towards anyway, right?

Thanks for my main contributors to that whole review thing. Yeah, that. We got another person reviewing… it's insane! That makes 5 people I know for sure are reading this.

Thanks to:  
xdark.flowerx – I hated Christine too, and in the way beginning before writing, I was torn on which pairing with her I should read because I love POTO, but then I saw Erik/Raoul and I couldn't believe I didn't see it! Oh, yeah… morning classes are evil, probably because mornings are too.  
PuppetofDreams – I used to have old English moods… actually whenever I read Shakespeare I end up thinking like that too. This update is pretty late, but yeah, hopefully I'll remedy that.  
whatevergirl – thanks for the update.  
Mithril Maiden – I'll try my hardest to update faster. It's a crazy balancing act I'm not too good at… yet.  
psychonerd 5 – Erik's fickle. He'll figure out soon enough that he can't be a villain anymore (well, hopefully he'll figure it out, right?) _(and that little voice in my head is taunting me, saying 'great save')_

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 03

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

I had rushed to her room and knocking on the door, I heard no answer. I knocked again, a little worried. With the thought that she could be in danger, I entered the room. No one was in it. It made sense that she would be out having breakfast or doing other things. I could not help but feel silly for my irrationality. My paranoia was starting to catch up with me. I would have to be a little more trusting. We were free. The opera ghost was nowhere in sight and I still had time to ponder my next step. I sat down and decided to wait for her. I had initially wanted to be alone; at least I could spend this time to just think.

o.o.o

Maybe just thinking in this room by myself was not the smartest idea ever. I could not help but wonder where my life was going. My confrontation with Philippe was throwing me off balance. He was making me question my whole reason for being. Just a little support would have been nice. It would have been nice to have some confirmation that what I wanted was not completely off base, was not completely idiotic and selfish to work toward.

Why was I struggling so hard for this opera house? I had once thought it was because I liked it. I thought that it made me happy. I had even thought that it allowed me some freedom. Freedom. I scoffed at the thought. This opera house was just as constraining as my house or society. It was society. It was simply because I did not realize it. I did not realize it had been just another role to play.

Why was I struggling so hard against my family? Weren't they people who only had my best interests in mind? My mother always worried about me. I knew that much. She always tried to do what was best for me. I always remembered her as she was before my father died. She had changed drastically, but I think she's just misled sometimes. At least she did not know about Philippe's lessons. It would have hurt to know that she did not stop it, almost like it had hurt this morning when she had said allowing me to spend time with the Daae's had been a mistake. Philippe. He was also trying the best he could. I could not fault him completely. He tried to be a father to me, but he did not realize that what I needed hadn't been a father. I had needed and wanted a brother.

Why was I struggling so hard to keep a girl I no longer wanted? Christine wasn't what I wanted. I doubted that she could ever become the person I truly wanted. I should just let her go. I should give her some of the freedom that I wanted. She should not be stuck to a person who only wanted to use her. She looked as though she had feelings for the opera ghost. Though she had been kidnapped, she spoke of it in awe and not terror. Her terror was always second to some other emotion I could not properly name.

What was the point of it all? I did not know what I was struggling for and for whom. This mystery person I think myself to be could just be another role. Maybe I was just looking at it all wrong. Maybe I was all my roles, but all of them combined. I doubted it though. I abhorred most of the things I had to say and how I had to act, but I could not stop acting. There was something stopping me from doing it, and sadly enough, it was my own fear.

But, I couldn't allow myself to think like this. I was supposed to be strong enough to struggle against these doubts.

It was frustrating though. I knew what I wanted, but nothing I knew currently could provide me with it. Admittedly, the closest thing to it would be Christine. I had to struggle to keep her. She was the only person around who could at least see some part of who I really was. The mere thought of her could make me smile. It may have been because of the past, but being around her made me feel less fake. I was still acting, but I knew with time I could make her see that the roles were not who I was. She would be able to understand. She was an actress. She had to play roles on stage, but that did not make any of those characters who she was. She definitely had to understand.

But what if she did not? What if she could not understand that being a Vicomte was not who I really was? That there was another person beneath it all. I had come here to Christine's room to find solace. I didn't think that it would cause me such confusion. I was starting to think I was too dependent on Christine. I was too dependent on the thought that she would be different. What if she could not be different?

She was my fiancée though. There was a good reason that she was. She was not like everyone else. She did not want anything from me besides my company.

I knew I was frowning, but in the privacy that Christine's room provided, I knew that I did not have to fake the smile. Still, habit had me leaning against the table and letting my hair fall like a curtain around my face. I could frown, but it still felt too open to allow such emotions to be plainly read on my face.

I absently grabbed some strands of my hair and stared as it slowly slipped through my fingers. Philippe's hair was short and he often got irritated at me for having such long hair, but I liked it long. He never said anything aloud anymore, but sometimes whenever he looked at me, I would see disapproval flash across his eyes. I did not care though. It made me different from him, and though I respected Philippe, I did want to assert some defiance against him. I remembered when I first decided to grow my hair out. Philippe had actually been livid since I had gone almost a year without having to be disciplined or taught a lesson, but when time came to cut my hair, I defiantly stood my ground. I told him I did not want to cut it.

I had cringed when he stormed at me and had cried out when he grabbed me by my hair throwing me to the ground. I always tried to remain silent when Philippe taught me lessons because he preferred it that way. He said it was a sign of weakness to let anyone know what you were really feeling. He said it was good that I remained silent when the blows fell because it meant I was growing up stronger. I did not want to look weaker in my brother's eyes. In my defense, I had only cried out because I hadn't expected him to grab my hair like that.

He had yelled, "You want to grow your hair out?"

I nodded and made to stand up. I knew if I stayed on the ground Philippe would only be further enraged. "Yes, brother. I want it longer."

"You look feminine enough," he was pacing in front of me. His voice had gotten even, "you don't need to have long hair. Vicomte's don't have long hair."

"But," I replied, trying to keep my voice as even, but failing. I had wanted to say, 'I want it longer. Isn't that enough?' But that would have been asking for a punch to the stomach or worse the reed again. Instead, I opted to say with a bit of practiced arrogance, "I'm going to be a better Vicomte than any one of those around and I would rather not be compared to them."

Philippe had stared at me for a moment. He was considering how to react to my response. Philippe was dangerous when he was thinking. He often came up with cruel punishments and would always find a way to trap me in statements I thought were okay. I always thought that it had been an unfair advantage. Philippe was older and more experienced than I was, and he seemed to always be thinking five steps ahead of me. I had been thirteen and was in that growth spurt period. This insular moment comprised the totality of my teenage rebellion stage. Philippe had not allowed any rebellion past this one. I had grown taller and I was filling out properly. With the regiment Philippe put me on, I was in good shape though I was still a little scrawny. Philippe could have easily overpowered me still if he wanted to, and I had prayed to God that he did not feel like it. Instead, he nodded his head slowly and staring me down he said, "If it grows longer than an inch past your shoulders, I'm going to cut it myself."

Then he had left. It was disturbing at best. He left the threat unsaid, but he had taken scissors to me a couple of times before. I had the scars from those as well. It had not been a pleasant experience. I shivered at the thought, but at least, I had been able to keep my hair long. There had been a time when I almost considered cutting it off, but I had not wanted to let this one little victory go. And now, now I just would not want to. It was a sign of the person that was buried underneath all these guises. It meant that there was still some hope.

Hope. That was what Christine was supposed to be for me as well. She was my hope that someone else besides myself would believe in that person. Someone else would see the person I really was and not who I had been forced and taught to present myself as.

Yet, always when I thought of hope, I could not stop the doubt from entering my mind. Doubt plagued every hope I ever had. Enough so that being left alone, I would feel nothing but depression. I would think of hopes and dreams and end up with emptiness and despair. Similar to how I felt right now actually.

Frustrated. Depressed. Lost. I did not know the next step to take. I had to have a plan if I wanted to change my life, but nothing seemed to be changing. With Philippe back, for every step I had taken forward, it felt as though I had fallen three more back. Even without Philippe's presence, my plan had already been falling apart. I was falling apart. I was supposed to become my own person, be a productive member of society and prove my worth in business. I was just supposed to prove my worth in general, not to society, not to my family, but to myself. I needed to know that I was not worthless, that I was not chained to this position without any skills or talents of my own. Moreover, I was supposed to marry Christine so that in it all, I would have someone who saw me. I would love her. I would support her and provide her with everything she ever wanted, and she would simply have to understand that I was not all those roles. I was something more. Then suddenly, I stopped believing she could do anything for me. When I found that out, I knew that I had to break it off, but I could not. I just could not.

Suddenly, the door opened and Christine walked in.

Surprised, she let out a small yelp, "Raoul! I hadn't known you were here. Why didn't you call me?"

I was still frowning but I offered a small smile for her. "I hadn't planned to come here. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing."

She stared at me for a moment. Her expression reminded me when Philippe was studying me. She walked toward me with a frown on her face. "Don't be so sad, Raoul. You shouldn't let your lady-love worry about you in such a manner."

I opened my mouth to respond, but her response was like a blow to the face. I was thrown completely off kilter. It was only because of all the practice that I'd had was I able to recover quickly. I schooled my features and smiled brightly, but inside my head, I was screaming. There it was again. The smile made me want to cry. I could even feel my throat constrict.

"… having everything you'd ever wanted, and even now you have a fiancé. You should be joyous." Christine laughed lightly at her own words.

I had missed part of her statement so I waited until the echoes of my yell stopped before responding, "Of course. I was just having a terrible morning. Nothing to worry about."

Christine nodded and turned to walk away. I quickly stood up and grabbing her around her waist, spun her around. Her laughter was joyous and expectant so I forced a laugh that sounded half hysterical to my own ears. Christine said nothing of the sort, so I brushed it off as being my imagination.

"Now," I placed her down and let her continue to move around the room. I sat down and made certain I looked attentive, "What are you up to this morning?"

Christine excited turned, "The masquerade of course."

"The masquerade? Isn't that still a month away?"

She chided him gently, "Love, there's so much to do."

Love? I inwardly cringed at the word. At least she had not called me Angel. I smiled anyway and forced myself to get caught up in her excitement, "There can't be too much. Andre and Firmin would have told me as much."

Christine rolled her eyes playfully, "Not on the business side, dear. We are all practicing the performance for the night. We're going to get new dresses," she emphasized this with a playful twirl, "and masks and we're going to learn a new dance as well."

"So you've been under Madame Giry's care again," I prompted.

"Yes, yes," she replied sitting by the mirror.

I absently realized that Christine never really looked at me when we spoke. Not when we spoke of ordinary things. I thought back to all the times we had spoken. I was certain we had been staring into each other's eyes on the rooftop when we sang together. There were more times than not however when Christine would turn away from me to look off into space. I had always figured that Christine was a bit absentminded. She was often liable to daydream in the middle of a conversation when we were little and I figured it must have just carried on to adulthood. Now, I was not sure.

She seemed somehow lost to me as though she had never really been with me to start with. It was as though she was somewhere else completely when she was supposed to be here with me. It was different than when I saw her singing in Hannibal. When she had sung, it had felt as though she had been _more _than just there. It had felt as though her presence had filled the entire opera house. It had felt as though she could reach you personally – her voice touching your heart and mind. I had been drawn to that presence. It felt more real to me than the person I was.

But when she was alone with me, it was as though I could not hold her complete attention. Even when she had sung with me, it had felt differently. Her voice sounded like it was lacking something vital. Her song did not make my heart soar as it did before. Now, it could not reach me at all. It seemed as though she was not even trying to anymore.

I was trying though. I had been. I had been trying to capture her attention, but it always seemed divided. It always seemed like she was hiding something from me.

"Raoul. Raoul!" Christine yelled.

I looked up at her in confusion.

"Were you even listening to what I was saying?"

I opened my mouth to lie, but I did not want to have to lie to her. I wanted to stop the pretenses, so I told the truth. "Sorry, Christine. I guess I haven't been sleeping well lately."

She looked affronted, as though I had just paid her the greatest insult possible.

"If I'm so boring," she started and I wished I had just lied to her and said I was listening, "then maybe you should just leave."

"No, Christine," I said standing up, "You are the only person interesting enough to keep my attention." I walked over to where she was sitting in front of her mirror. I looked at myself for a moment and wanted nothing more than to punch the reflection. I knew exactly what I would see. I would see a fake smile, fake worry, fake concern, and fake interest. Fake. Christine was not the only person that could keep my attention. Nowadays, it seemed as though no one could wake me from my thoughts without yelling at me. I lied to her and it had come so easily. I was acting again, but I couldn't stop. Not when Christine was at stake. I placed my hands on her shoulders, "What were you saying? Please repeat it for me."

Christine glared, and I pouted slightly at her. I knew what effect that had on her, on anyone really. She grinned at me and lightly hit my hand.

It worked. Damn it. I should have just been an actor if I was going to do it everyday of my life.

"I was explaining how everything will be so splendid and how the dance is just perfect. The music will be upbeat and I'm training with the ballet girls since I'm probably not going to be the prima donna anymore now that Carlotta's back and the phantom's gone."

I was lucky that I had been paying attention this time because I saw that she was expecting a response.

"Christine, don't say such things. You will be prima donna again," seeing her face light up, I knew that I had said the right words, "Everyone loves you, but the managers are too blinded by Carlotta's longevity here to notice that she has long since past her prime."

Christine smiled brightly at me, and still she said nothing.

I knelt on one knee and grabbed her hand in mine, "You never needed the phantom to become a star. You will become one again. I'm certain of it."

I wondered briefly if that would be enough. I was relieved when she finally responded.

"Raoul," she her eyes finally focused on me. I had not noticed that they had been gazing off elsewhere, "you are too kind."

I secretly followed where her eyes had been looking at and saw my reflection again. She had been staring at herself? The word prima donna stuck in my mind. It was a fitting title.

I did not think I could keep lying like that. It was not all a lie, but I hated giving compliments in such a manner. It was bootlicking. It was just hollow flattery that a person should not hear too much because it gets to their head. It makes them forget that people have both their strengths and weaknesses and that both made the person really great. It reminded me of my brother. Philippe surrounded himself with people who were yes-men. He did not want to hear their opinions. He wanted them to praise him and tell him all his ideas were good. I worried that he would lose touch with reality so much that his whole world would come crashing down on him.

Losing touch with everything you thought you knew was frightening. I had not yet crashed, but I was wavering wildly. I hoped the time would not come too soon when I lost it completely. Now, I feared that Christine would lose herself in her own world. Some part of me knew that would not happen though. Christine was similar to Philippe, but she was somehow something more. She could concentrate on a moment at will. She could command attention when she tried to and be ignored with just as much effort. She was an actress in every way. She was used to being different things to different people.

I knew Christine liked the feeling of being seen. She craved it almost as much as I did, but she did not seem to care whether people saw her true self. She only cared about them seeing the talented side of her. She wanted their praise. She sought it. I always congratulated her after each performance and told her my honest opinion in practices. She had her good days and her bad, but I often had to lie when she had bad days. It was another thing I was ashamed of. I honestly tried not to lie to her. Christine was undoubtedly a talented singer. I knew that all too well. It had been what had attracted me to her, that quality of her voice that could just reach anyone. It was as though she was singing just for you.

I did not know how much of her voice was the phantom's doing, how much of her voice was actually his. I did know that the ghost was only her tutor. He probably would not have tutored her had she no talent at all. From his demands and insults to Carlotta, it also seemed as though he was a perfectionist. Christine seemed to almost be there. I worried that he would come back for her. I knew he would come back for her actually. I was worried about how I should react though.

The phantom was a mystery. He acted out and gave ridiculous demands thinking that we would bow to him. Admittedly, we would for the sake of saving lives, but I wondered what he would really get out of it all. I wondered what he wanted because once we figured that out, he would not be a problem. Give the man what he wanted and hope that it would be enough. He wanted Christine though. Could I give her to him? Would she even go? Was she even mine to give up?

Christine began to touch my hair. I struggled to focus on her. She frowned again.

"You should cut your hair, Raoul," she commented not really even looking at me. She caught my eyes and smiled, "I'll even cut it for you if you like."

I stood up quickly and grabbed her hand gently. No one touched my hair except for myself. I had tried to pay for a haircut before but when the man had brought the scissors near me, I could not do it. I could name stop flinching away from him, and he told me he could not cut properly when I kept moving. I did not try to get my hair cut by anyone else ever again. I had become quite proficient in doing it myself anyway.

Christine was looking at me expectantly again.

I laughed nervously, "It's not that I don't trust you to do it, but I rather like my hair long."

She made another face, "It's childish, Raoul. I remember when we were younger, you had shorter hair. You looked quite dashing."

When we were younger, I had never bothered to care about my hair. I never thought that I would have to struggle to keep it whatever length I wanted.

"It's staying long, Christine," I stated simply, but I lightened my tone and added, "Do you not think I look dashing enough as is?"

She giggled, and the sound irritated me.

"You look perfectly handsome. Like a knight in shining armor," she commented flippantly.

Yeah, a knight. I thought despondently. I was supposed to be the knight that protected the damsel in distress, but this knight was weak and this damsel looked nothing to be in distress.

"Well, then," I playfully bowed to her, "Would you allow me the honor of being your escort on the night of the masquerade?"

She smiled, daintily held out her hand. "Of course I would love for you to be my escort. Who else would I take?"

I kissed her hand and had to do a double take. That was odd, "Where's your ring, Christine?"

Christine took her hand back quickly. She looked around suspiciously before saying, "Don't say it so loudly, Raoul! Someone may hear."

I looked around the room as well and commented, "We're in your room, Christine. Who would hear us? The walls are not so thin that merely speaking could be heard. I had merely asked you where your ring was."

That had been defensive. I knew she did not wear it often, but I thought she would wear it sometimes. I never saw her with it on when I visited in the afternoon, so I thought that maybe she wore it in the mornings.

"The walls have ears, Raoul," Christine dragged him away from the mirror.

Raoul looked back to see what she was pulling him away from. The mirror? "Christine, you needn't worry about the phantom any longer. He has not shown himself in five months. Does that mean nothing?"

"What nonsense are you talking about? If I do not see his body, then I will not believe that he is dead," Christine looked ready to stamp her foot, "Anyway, this has nothing to do with that."

That was a lie if I had ever heard one. She was the one acting suspicious.

"I just don't want anyone to know about it yet. Can't you understand?"

I didn't, and on this topic, I would not lie to her. "No, I don't understand. You were so excited when I got the ring for you, and an engagement is hardly something any girl I've ever known hides."

"I'm not just any girl, Raoul."

"Yes, I know." This argument was actually old. Christine refused to wear her ring, and it seemed not just sometimes, but at anytime. It was painful. It was also one of the main reasons I began to doubt her love for me. I began to doubt who she really was. I thought she would be happy. She had asked for my love on that roof and I had been more than willing to give it to her. She did not seem to reciprocate the feeling though. She was holding back in more ways than I could really fully comprehend. It seemed ever since the engagement, we had actually been moving further and further apart. I had thought it would bring us closer. I thought that we would become inseparable. It was true, I visited her enough. Nothing ever came of it, and all we were now were old friends who had just caught up on the many years we'd been separated. "You aren't any girl. You're my fiancé and I want everyone to know of it."

"I can't do that," Christine adamantly stated. She shook her head. "Meg and I were talking about it, and she suggested something that's perfect."

I looked at her unmoved. She was just buying time. I didn't know why I was so annoyed with her not wearing the ring. I wanted to break off the engagement anyway, and this was the perfect situation to do so without scandal. It just seemed as though she was using me. I thought I had been the one using her, but she somehow had been using me. I did not know to what end, but it was clear as day to me that she was holding back.

"She said that I should just wear it around my neck. I'll still be wearing it, but it will be…"

"… less obvious," I finished her sentence. Yes, less obvious. In other words, she wanted to be able to hide it.

"So," she said a little more excited now that she could tell I was not going to argue with her anymore, "do you think it's a good idea?"

I no longer cared, but I forced myself to look like I did. "Yes. I don't mind at all, Christine." I sat back down because arguing with her was tiring.

"Oh, Raoul," she practically sang, "You don't know how excited I really am to marry you."

Yeah, not as excited as you were about the masquerade and a new dress though. I had wanted to say aloud, but the sarcasm in mind rarely had a chance to come out. It was one of the things that I had to keep suppressed. It was one among many.

"I will find a necklace to place it around."

I thought to offer to buy her one, but I did not even bother. She was staring off into space again. I knew she would glance at me to make certain I was paying attention, but she did not need much to chatter away.

"We will have such a great time. You and I married. We'll travel the world…"

I forced myself to look attentive and to nod when it sounded as though she expected a response.

"We'll have great adventures like we talked about as children."

My smile was fading and I had to remind myself that I was supposed to be excited.

"… and we'll have many kids. We'll take them to the beach and tell them stories of what we used to do as children."

Children. I had not thought of that. Would I be good enough to be father? I was not able to take care of myself. How would I ever be able to care for another life?

"We shall go to parties for the elite. I will sing sometimes though of course. I could not stay away from music for very long…"

More roles.

"… I couldn't stay on stage of course since being a Vicomtess would disallow it."

I was starting to feel sick. She would give up her dream of being a prima donna to become a Vicomtess?

"Oh, I'll have to have some sort of training of course so that I won't disgrace you…"

She was thinking about propriety? Somehow that was ironic in my mind. I could hear Philippe's words in my head. _'She will always be a lowly chorus girl.'_ It was disgusting that I was thinking of that.

"You needn't worry about things like that," I finally spoke up. I couldn't let her think that the title was important because in my life it was nothing but a role that had led to other roles. It was not who I was, and I no longer wanted to be defined by just that.

"No," Christine turned to face me, "I can't wait to become a Vicomtess. It'll be perfect."

I was definitely going to be sick.

o.o.o.o

End ch03

word count: 5,095

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

So that's poor Raoul's chapter. I'll see you again soon hopefully!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Visits to Christine.

Warning(s):

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Thanks to reviewers and sorry this didn't come out sooner. You would think with so much in common with chapter 3 that it would be a lot easier, but surprisingly, it wasn't. That's no excuse on how late this is getting out though, so forgive me and I will try to make the next chapter come out faster… I really hope I can do it though.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 04

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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Last Time:

I nodded to myself and shut the door reluctantly. I did not think clarity would be there the next time I opened the door. It already felt lost to me. _I_ suddenly felt lost.

But I knew where I was heading. I was heading to Christine's room to find some inspiration. She was my inspiration, wasn't she? She was the reason I needed to finish this opera. She was my goal. She was my freedom… almost.

o.o.o

I arrived at her room and was surprised to find that someone was already in it. Christine usually left in the mornings to eat breakfast and to spend some time with Meg and the other ballet dancers. She would not be back until a little later.

I was further surprised when I saw that it was the Vicomte. I started to turn around because I did not feel like having to watch the Vicomte for who knew how long before Christine returned, but something kept me at the mirror. I had been searching for inspiration and what better motivator for the passion I was accustomed to feeling than my rival. Additionally, I knew for a fact that he did not come everyday until the afternoon. Something must have happened. I tried to get a better look at him, but he was facing the other way.

It was odd because I usually felt the urge to kill the Vicomte whenever I saw him. Right now though, I felt nothing but annoyance. It seemed as though my passion really was fading. I should have been infuriated. Usually the blonde's presence was enough to get me riled up with murderous rage. This was the man, not even that, he was a mere boy that had stolen my Christine away from me. He had taken what was rightfully mine, and I did not want to kill him. I did not feel that urge that usually rose, where my heart raced in anticipation and my hands twitched in repressed motions.

Killing was something with which I was familiar. I told myself that it was not who I was, but it came so easily for me. It was easy to kill someone who was in my way, who wrongfully spread rumors about me. It was easy because it was revenge. All the world was against me and it was only right to try to even the odds.

That was the old me that's talking though. I said that I would change. I said that I was not a villain and I was not a monster – not willingly at least. I did not know why I could not just force myself to stop. In my defense at the moment, I had made a deal with myself that I would do whatever it took until I was able to get Christine. I would be anyone I had to be to finish this opera and get what was rightfully mine. There was still some reluctance in me though. It held me at bay whether I was struggling against it or not.

I had not been struggling against that reluctance for a while now. It was all because of Christine and the Vicomte. Though, if I were being honest with myself it would be mostly because of Christine. She had been my only hope, but she would never be enough. I could now only see her as she truly was. Since that dream, I could not fool myself into seeing my image of her. She was manipulative and I above all else hated to be manipulated. I had been under someone else's control for most of my life and I would not willingly go back to that. Therein laid the problem. How much control was I willing to give up just to have someone who understood me, someone I could love? The price seemed too high, but for the right person, I was certain I would give anything up. I simply wanted to stop playing these roles. I wanted to not be seen as simply a monster.

I was trying to not make it easy for them to call me a monster either. It was not just about not killing though. I was more about not even wanting to kill. I was sure that most people's first urges when angry were not to kill people. It was understandable because that would be detrimental to everyone's health. I was making progress though because I did not feel like killing the Vicomte. That was indeed a good sign, but that did not negate the fact that I had wanted to hurt those chorus girls and the managers. If anyone's sins were worst, it had to be the Vicomte's. He was the one who had committed the worst crime against me. He had taken from me what I rightfully deserved.

However, it took too much energy to stay mad. It took too much effort to summon the amount of anger that was needed to hate the boy. At its base, his sin was the same as mine in a way. We both desperately wanted something. It just so happened that we wanted the same thing, and I wanted it first. I was getting tired of these mood swings. I was getting tired with these games. I just needed to finish this opera. I would take Christine and everything would be alright. Everything would change once this whole ordeal was through.

Except I had no more passion. Music had been my catharsis for so long and now that I could not play, I felt more trapped and confined within myself than ever before. I was stuck in my own role with nothing to act as a release. I had no inspiration to play. I had no inspiration to compose. I had come here to find inspiration and instead I found this boy.

I stared at my rival and hoped my light, my spark really had not gone out. Not yet at least. At least he had turned a bit so that I could see his face. Still, seeing him, I felt nothing. Maybe not nothing because when I really looked at the blonde now something stirred within me. Because the look in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, and the way I could see the sigh practically deflate the once vital man, were actions I knew intimately. I felt an odd familiarity, an odd connection with him suddenly.

I found myself empathizing with him. I had never empathized with anyone in my life because no one could even begin to understand what horrors I had gone through in my life. There had been no reason to empathize with others who did not even truly know suffering. The Vicomte would not understand what it felt like to be physically deformed, to be trapped in what others thought of him, to be physically and emotionally beaten down until the only thing that was left was survival. He knew merely a fraction of what I had experienced. He had everything: money, family, friends, and handsome features. I, on the other hand, had nothing to start with. Yet somehow, I had managed to thrive. I had lifted myself up from the dregs of isolation and pain, and I was able to create.

I should not even think that the Vicomte had anything with which I could empathize. He had no hardships in his life. He probably had everything handed over to him as a child. I could feel the familiar rage build within me. The injustice of it all.

Yet, it faded as quickly as it had arisen. I saw the boy frown. I had never seen that. I'd always seem him smiling and vibrant. Even a few seconds ago, his facial features had been neutral. I could see him relaxing into his environment. His body slouched a little more and his hand unclenched from its place on the table. I could practically see him thinking that he was alone. See him think that he could just relax for a moment. It was odd to see him frown. It conflicted with the image I had of him in my head. It was an expression that did not seem to fit him, but at the same time, it looked less forced than his smile. Now that I had something to compare his expression with, it seemed obvious that the smile was indeed strained.

Then, he blocked his face with his hair. I wondered briefly if he had started to cry, but I did not see the telltale sign of his shoulders shaking. He was just frowning, and it was with perverse fascination that I wanted to see that expression again. I stared at him intently wishing I could somehow make him face me without alerting him of my presence.

With both of us still lost in our thoughts, Christine entered the room.

Surprised, she let out a small yelp, "Raoul! I hadn't known you were here. Why didn't you call me?"

I saw him lift his head and give her a small smile. It was painful to see that smile. It was more sadness than joy, but I did see some lightness in his eyes upon seeing Christine. So, Christine was his reprieve as well. She was like sunlight sometimes. She could just brighten your day. Often, she spoke words you wanted to hear and gave looks you wanted to see. She was a brilliant actress.

He replied, "I hadn't planned to come here. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing."

I was glad that Christine walked toward the mirror because I could see the expression on the Vicomte's face again. He was no longer frowning as he was before, but his sadness was etched in his eyes and his brow. I kept getting drawn into his eyes. They were filled with such sadness, such desperation. I knew that look. I knew desperation. I did not think that the Vicomte had been able to even comprehend the emotion, much less feel it.

Christine was staring at him. She was calculating something again. She was gauging what her next step should be. I had seen the look before, but it was not until now that I saw it in person and completely understood what it meant. She walked towards him with a frown on her face. She said, "Don't be so sad, Raoul. You shouldn't let your lady-love worry about you in such a manner."

Had I not been staring at the blonde's eyes, I would have missed the surprise and betrayal that flashed in them. It was there and gone in a moment, and in its place, his eyes became guarded. It was the only way I could explain it. The Vicomte's eyes had drawn me in earlier, and now while they still drew me, there was not the depth I had seen before. He was guarding himself.

_I_ was frowning now. Of all the responses to speak, Christine had chosen that one. I did not understand where she was going with this. She had a reason for all her actions, and this one seemed off. It was obvious that the Vicomte was in some sort of distress. Was she just going to ignore it? Did she not even want to pretend to care? I allowed myself a derisive snort. This subtle rejection was something I was familiar with. At least, my rival would experience some of the same responses from Christine. I was certain it stung as Christine's rejections had hurt me.

But the boy had a different temperament from my own. The Vicomte simply smiled brightly, and when he did, I could almost believe that he hadn't been sad at all. Only 'almost' because now that I knew what to look for, I could start to see his shiny veneer beginning to crack. The mask was so plain to see and I wondered why I had missed it. It was easy to believe that the Vicomte was shallow and had no care in the world. _He_ made it easy to think that.

It was also disturbing in a way. I was no longer sure I knew what to expect from the boy at all now. I had not realized the Vicomte was a terrific actor as well. He had been able to completely cover up his pain that even I, who was an observer of all things and who considered myself a discerning individual, had doubted what I knew and saw. I was starting to wonder. The Vicomte was even more dangerous now. He was dangerous because now I knew him to be unpredictable. That person under the smile may be the real danger.

I somehow doubted that because the person that I had glimpsed earlier seemed as tired as I felt. He had seemed as dejected and worn down as me. It did provide some twisted sense of comfort for me, knowing that in the light, a creature was suffering as well.

Christine was just talking through all this. She was not even looking at Raoul anymore. I suddenly realized that I had barely spared Christine a glance once she had entered the room. How idiotic of me. I was supposed to be finding inspiration in Christine and instead I was watching the Vicomte. I looked at her, but my eyes felt drawn back to the blonde. I knew what to expect from Christine and right now, it seemed as though I would not find any inspiration in her. She was merely annoying me.

"You can't be sad. You are handsome. And having everything you'd ever wanted, and even now you have a fiancé. You should be joyous." She laughed lightly at her own words. She had been staring at the mirror, at me but turned to face him now. She often turned to the mirror when she spoke as though I was her only audience. I knew it to be false, but she still kept the pretense. It was her lie to me. I think it was her first lie. She had promised me many things when I had first started tutoring her in her singing. She had said that I was the most important being in her life. She had thought I was the angel sent to her by her father of course, but as time wore on, she still maintained that promise in words if not in actions. I was sure that it had become more of a habit than anything that she spoke to the mirror. I did not think I even needed to be there. The angel was in her mind, just as I would never fully be a real person to her.

In the end, she was always just watching herself. She could not face her tutor, so she had to watch herself. It was what made her brilliant. She knew exactly what expressions she wore and what effect she could create with them.

The Vicomte nodded absently and replied quite dully in contrast to the smile on his face, "Of course. I was just having a terrible morning. Nothing to worry about."

I scoffed at the statement. How gentlemanly of the Vicomte to keep all his problems to himself. If you bottled up emotions long enough, they would overpower you. The thought had flashed in my mind, but it made me wonder. Maybe that was what was already happening.

Christine nodded and turned away again. Then the Vicomte, with more energy than I thought he had, grabbed her around her waist and spun her around. Christine laughed joyously and I stared hard at the blonde when I heard him laugh. I had thought it was a sob. I looked at his face and I saw nothing but happiness. He looked completely happy. I was sure what I heard though. The Vicomte was breaking, and I could not believe I was the only one to really notice.

Surely his family would have noticed. I was certain Christine saw it. Maybe she thought it was not so drastic, but she had to have seen it. Maybe she did not care enough to mention it. I knew the managers would not notice. They only cared about money, and as long as everything looked good on the surface, they would not notice. However, I had to admit to myself that when the Vicomte wanted to hide something, he could do it extremely well. Maybe Christine hadn't been calculating earlier, maybe she had just been confused. I doubted the blonde often showed anyone his true emotions.

The biggest question that was plaguing my mind though was why did _I_ even care? I did not, right? Once again, I forced my eyes to watch Christine.

She walked across the room and started to adjust her clothing. I felt my eyes drawn back across the room as the Vicomte sat down.

In some detached way, I knew I should be mad. I knew that I should want to be in Raoul's place and be able to hug her and walk about her room so freely, but in this moment, this particular moment, it seemed as though all the right or wrong components had come together: my lack of inspiration, my growing apathy, and the depression and hurt I seemed to share with my rival. I had no desire to switch. It looked as constrained as my current life.

"Now," the blonde started conversationally. He sat rigidly and properly, like a perfect attentive gentleman, "What are you up to this morning?"

Christine excitedly turned before replying, "The masquerade of course."

The masquerade. I did not know what I was expecting, but it was obvious Christine would be thinking about the masquerade. She loved parties. She liked the attention she received with large crowds. It was why she had been the perfect choice in making a prima donna.

"The masquerade?" I heard the blonde question, "Isn't that still a month away?"

That amused me for some reason. It was a stupid question. Christine had been preparing for the masquerade weeks before today. I doubted a month seemed like enough time for her.

She chided him gently, "Love, there's so much to do."

I flinched at the word 'love.' She would never call me that, but from the quick expression of disgust on the Vicomte's face, it seemed he _didn't_ want to be called that. It was a good thing that Christine was talking to the mirror again or else she would have seen. It was odd though. They were to be married, were they not? Shouldn't he want her to profess her love so easily? At least she did not call him Angel. I would have been angered. I paused to think about that. Maybe she should have called him Angel. Maybe the passion I was searching for would have come back. However, I think I would have been more disturbed than angered if she had called him that. I knew she threw the word around easily.

The Vicomte smiled anyway and seemed to be truly excited for her, "There can't be too much. Andre and Firmin would have told me as much."

Christine rolled her eyes playfully, "Not on the business side, dear. We are all practicing the performance for the night. We're going to get new dresses," _I_ rolled my eyes as she spun around, "and masks and we're going to learn a new dance as well."

She was youthful and energetic. That was what I had thought attracted me to her, but for some reason, it seemed incredibly immature. Maybe not so much immature as shallow. She was not talking of anything of substance, and I was becoming bored with her. The only thing that seemed to keep me at the mirror was the Vicomte's reactions. I hated to admit it, but he was intriguing enough to have and keep my attention. Not the bad kind of attention either. It was not the _you-have-just-been-noticed-by-the-OG-and-therefore-will-die_ attention. Not many people interested me enough that I would pay attention to them. I think I could count the number on one hand.

"So you've been under Madame Giry's care again," he prompted. He was amusing, too. I could tell the question was just an encouragement for her to continue talking so that he would not have to say anything. I did not know how he could stand the drivel.

I watched as Christine walked closer to the mirror. She was very beautiful. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, they were all perfect. She should be the perfect person for me, but _it_ wasn't there. It, that elusive feeling of ease and understanding was not there. An honest look would have been nice as well. Honesty was something that Christine could fake entirely too well. Fake honesty seemed laughable. Could two things be so completely at opposite ends and still exist together? Part of me wished they could.

"Yes, yes," she replied, and I stared as her mouth formed the words. She was talking to the mirror. I was certain that she was staring and talking to herself. It was almost as though the Vicomte were not even there. I watched in fascination as she looked at the mirror intently. I could tell that she was not trying to look past it. I knew what that looked like. She was just staring at herself. She was directly in my line of sight. Yet, somehow my eyes were drawn past her. The Vicomte was staring at her head. He had just noticed that she was not really speaking to him.

"Madame Giry has been wonderful. She is often mean sometimes though, Raoul," Christine spoke, but I did not think that the Vicomte was listening. His eyes had glazed over, and he was lost in thought.

I wondered what he was thinking about. What would normal Vicomte's be thinking about? They'd be thinking about women, conquests, money, hunting… I had no idea, but I was certain that this Vicomte would not be thinking about any of those things. This boy was no ordinary Vicomte. It was refreshing really.

"But everything will be splendid," Christine continued to speak, "I'm practicing with the ballet girls the new dance that will just be the hit. Everyone will be talking about it for days after."

I wanted to shut her up, but I had to admit. Now that the Vicomte was daydreaming, I could really just look at him. His expression was neutral again, but I had not expected anything less. Though I would like to see what was underneath that mask of his, I was not certain that would ever occur. How would I get him to drop his façade in front of me? He was quite handsome in a boyish manner. He stood out in a crowd, not only because of his personality, but physically, he was radiant. Radiant…

"It's such a shame that I'm not going to be the prima donna. Carlotta's back and the phantom's gone. I guess it just wasn't meant to be," she turned to see his reaction at this point. She frowned when she saw that he was not listening.

I shook my head. I had not been listening either until she had said phantom. Unfortunately, I was so used to people calling me that that I responded. I lost my train of thought, but I was glad for it. I did not want to follow where those thoughts were leading me. It was insane to think of the Vicomte in such a manner. I looked at the boy again. It was harmless to admit he was handsome, but what exactly did that mean? I did not like the boy, and just because I had a new-found tolerance for him did not mean he was no longer my rival.

"Raoul," Christine turned around. "Raoul, Raoul!" She yelled.

I looked between Christine and Raoul. What _had_ I been thinking? I forced my eyes to only look at Christine. She looked truly annoyed, but I could find no humor in it. I was still stuck on that thought I had of the Vicomte. He was my rival. He was someone I hated. I hated him right. I could not think someone I hated was radiant. Who even thought of others in those terms?

"Were you even listening to what I was saying?"

I looked at him (only to see his reaction). He opened his mouth and paused. He replied, "Sorry, Christine. I guess I haven't been sleeping well lately."

I winced because I knew Christine would not appreciate that answer at all. He should've just lied. The Vicomte had to know that Christine loved attention and that fact extended to a rule that she hated it when people weren't paying attention to her.

As I knew she would, she looked affronted.

"If I'm so boring," I shook my head at her tone. She was beginning to remind me of Carlotta a lot, "then maybe you should just leave."

"No, Christine," the blonde actually replied, standing up. I thought leaving would have been a good idea. If I had stayed, I would have made her see she was being unreasonable. She was being a petulant child. "You are the only person interesting enough to keep my attention." He walked over to the mirror. He looked at himself, and I could have sworn he was going to hit the mirror. He looked at his reflection with such loathing I almost thought he had directed that expression towards me. It was a look I knew all too well.

"What were you saying? Please repeat it for me," he continued in a gentler tone.

At this proximity, the word radiant would not get out of my head. I was angry with myself for being so weak. It was illogical to have such thoughts.

Christine glared, and he pouted at her. My breath caught in my throat. That was one look I had never seen the blonde have before. I think my heart skipped a beat. Of course that was just because the way Christine reacted to that pout. She grinned at him and lightly hit his hand. She was being playful.

"I was explaining how everything will be so splendid and how the dance is just perfect. The music will be upbeat and I'm training with the ballet girls since I'm probably not going to be the prima donna anymore now that Carlotta's back and the phantom's gone."

He finally caught onto her train of thought. She wanted someone to deny that statement. "Christine, don't say such things. You will be prima donna again."

Her face lit up, and I was a little angry. I unfortunately was angry at her. She wanted to sing well, and I taught her. She wanted to be the star, and I made her one. She wanted to see me, and I showed myself to her. Would she never be satisfied? She seemed to take and take, and now she was going to start taking from the Vicomte. I broke the thought off. I would have liked the next thought to have been that I was angry that she was going to leave me, but instead I had been angry that she would be taking advantage of the Vicomte. He was not mine to protect. I was supposed to protect her from him, not the other way around.

The blonde, blindly allowed himself to whet her ego, "Everyone loves you, but the managers are too blinded by Carlotta's longevity here to notice that she has long since past her prime."

At least, the Vicomte had spoken true words. Christine was a brilliant singer, but he was flattering her too much. She would want more. Christine smiled brightly at him, and still she said nothing.

He then knelt on one knee and grabbed her hand, "You never needed the phantom to become a star. You will become one again. I'm certain of it."

Now I knew the blonde was delusional. Christine never needed me? What idiocy. He was just giving hollow flattery. Christine would lose touch with the fact that everything that had lead her up to this point was only due to me. I was her voice. I had opened up the position for her. I had given her everything she had ever wanted. Me, a 'monster' had been the only one to ever give her hope.

"Raoul," she said. Her eyes finally looked upon him. She had been staring at the mirror again, "you are too kind."

I noticed his eyes looking at the mirror in suspicion. So, the blonde had indeed noticed Christine's inability to look at anyone other than herself. He stared a little longer and it suddenly felt as though he knew I was there. He looked away and I suddenly felt myself relaxing when I hadn't realized I had tensed.

He had looked away when Christine touched his hair. He glanced back at the mirror and then focused solely on her again. I saw her frown at him.

"You should cut your hair, Raoul," she commented to herself. She caught his eyes and smiled, "I'll even cut it for you if you like."

The Vicomte practically flinched backwards, but he completed the action smoothly enough to make it look semi-graceful. He grabbed her hand out of his hair. It seemed he was touchy about his hair. I rather liked his hair long. I was part of his radi… I just liked it because I could not get my hair to grow like that. Christine always wanted to change people around her. Change them so that she would be satisfied. She did not worry about what they wanted; only what she wanted. Most of her fans had actually changed their clothes, shaved their beards, and cut their hair even shorter because she had requested it of them. It had amused me at the time, but it annoyed me now that she tried to do it to the Vicomte. I could just imagine her asking me to stop being deformed. I glared at her through the glass.

She was looking at him expectantly again.

He laughed nervously, "It's not that I don't trust you to do it, but I rather like my hair long."

Christine made another face, "It's childish, Raoul. I remember when we were younger, you had shorter hair. You looked quite dashing."

Now, she was flattering him to get her way. I wondered if the Vicomte would be like everyone else and give in to her demands. I had been weak enough to do so as well.

I had almost forgotten that they were childhood sweethearts. It seemed like they were barely mature enough as it were. How could children even begin to understand romantic love? I wondered if Christine even understood it now. She sometimes looked as though she was just playing a complicated game with everyone's emotions. The Vicomte on the other hand, looked as though he meant forever when he told her he loved her. He was wavering though. Just as his façade was wavering, so too was his will. I wondered if I could use it to my benefit.

"It's staying long, Christine," he answered resolutely, and I mentally cheered for him. His tone lightened as he continued, "Do you not think I look dashing enough as is?"

She giggled and the sound irritated me. He was smart to change the direction of the conversation. Had it continued, I was certain that Christine would be looking for a pair of scissors.

"You look perfectly handsome. Like a knight in shining armor," she commented flippantly. I scoffed at that. Of course, the Vicomte would be the knight in shining armor and I would be the evil monster that takes the damsel in distress. The metaphor did almost fit perfectly. I looked like a monster and the Vicomte was radiant. I did not know about Christine being a damsel in distress but it would lose its effect if the knight had to 'save' a manipulative witch. I looked at Christine with disdain.

Damn it if I was doing it again. I was supposed to be here to see what my goal was. Christine was my goal. Christine was my goal. If I had to repeat it a million times over, I would. I had to understand that she was my only hope. No matter how much I now could empathize with the Vicomte, it meant nothing because in the end, I would take Christine and only then would things become better. It would be better with Christine.

"Well, then," the Vicomte bowed to her, "Would you allow me the honor of being your escort on the night of the masquerade?"

She smiled and daintily held out her hand. "Of course I would love for you to be my escort. Who else would I take?"

The boy kissed her hand, and I was annoyed. However, it was amusing to see him do the double take at her hand. I had been wondering when he would notice.

"Where's your ring, Christine?"

Christine took her hand back quickly. She looked around suspiciously before saying, "Don't say it so loudly, Raoul! Someone may hear."

That was a strange reaction. He had simply asked where the ring was. Just because I had known of what he was speaking did not mean he had given anything away. Her reaction was a bit too large.

"We're in your room, Christine. Who would hear us? The walls are not so thin that merely speaking could be heard. I had merely asked you where your ring was."

The walls were not the problems, the mirrors were.

"The walls have ears, Raoul," Christine replied as she dragged him away from the mirror.

That was smart of her to move away from the mirror, but that would do them no good. It was futile to try to move further away, especially since the Vicomte was not whispering at all.

"Christine, you needn't worry about the phantom any longer. He has not shown himself in five months. Does that mean nothing?"

I laughed silently. Of course it meant nothing. Absence from sight does not mean complete disappearance. The Vicomte still had things to learn about the opera house it seemed.

"What nonsense are you talking about? If I do not see his body, then I will not believe that he is dead," Christine looked ready to stamp her foot, "Anyway, this has nothing to do with that."

I glared at her again. Christine was not making it easy for me to find inspiration. She was supposed to be my goal, but instead she talked about my death so easily.

She continued to speak when she saw that the Vicomte was unconvinced, "I just don't want anyone to know about it yet. Can't you understand?"

She just did not want _me_ to know about it. I knew she had almost told Meg a while ago, but was stopped when everyone else had joined them. I already knew however, but that was beside the point. I was sure that she knew I knew. I did not know however, what her game was.

"No, I don't understand," the blonde replied heatedly. I felt a little badly for him. They had confessed their love for each other and now it seemed Christine wanted to take it back. It was good news for me, but the Vicomte looked like a kicked puppy right now. "You were so excited when I got the ring for you, and an engagement is hardly something any girl I've ever known hides."

"I'm not just any girl, Raoul."

It sounded like an old argument. It had been five months since they had gotten engaged, and she was still hiding the ring? That was a very long time. It seemed my prospects were still good.

"Yes, I know," the Vicomte sounded tired again, "You aren't any girl. You're my fiancé and I want everyone to know of it."

"I can't do that," Christine adamantly stated. She shook her head. "Meg and I were talking about it, and she suggested something that perfect."

The boy did not look at all interested. He was not even faking it anymore.

"She said that I should just wear it around my neck. I'll still be wearing it, but it will be…"

"… less obvious," he finished.

Yes, it was definitely an old argument. I wondered if I could manage to tear them apart completely so that I would not even have to worry about the Vicomte getting in the way. It seemed like a very plausible idea now that I had heard their argument.

I turned around, tired of hearing their conversation. The Vicomte was giving in and he no longer amused me.

That ring held an important symbolism, not only for the Vicomte, but for myself as well. It was our future. It was what we wanted. It embodied who would be the winner in our competition.

However, I knew what Christine thought of it. It was easy to tell once you knew where she kept it. I had seen her place it the first day they had gotten engaged. The ring lay amongst her costume jewelry in the dresser. It was just another play thing to put on when she acted.

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End ch04

word count: 6,148

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Some of those parts, I was in a strange mood, so if the tone seems off, I apologize. I was just amused and Erik being amused at Raoul and annoyed at Christine. :o)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Visiting Christine.

Warning(s): Some bad language, nothing too bad. +

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: You guys are crazy fast in your reviews… that's both a good and bad thing. It makes me kinda feel bad that I can't update faster, but on the bright side, it does make me want to write more! So in conclusion, fast reviewers are awesome!

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 05

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul's POV

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Last time:

She was thinking about propriety? Somehow that was ironic in my mind. I could hear Philippe's words in my head. _'She will always be a lowly chorus girl.'_ It was disgusting that I was thinking of that.

"You needn't worry about things like that," I finally spoke up. I couldn't let her think that the title was important because in my life it was nothing but a role that had led to other roles. It was not who I was, and I no longer wanted to be defined by just that.

"No," Christine turned to face me, "I can't wait to become a Vicomtess. It'll be perfect."

I was definitely going to be sick.

o.o.o

The room was suffocating. Christine was still talking. It was closing in on me, and all I could hear were Christine's words. 'It'll be perfect.' What will be perfect? Would it be perfect that she would become a Vicomtess? Would it be perfect now that I was starting to see how much she loved to play these roles? Would it be perfect that I would have to play alongside of her? Would it be perfect that we would be stuck in a marriage without love?

Wait. I love her. I was certain that I loved her. Just… not enough. Not in the way I should. Not in the way that meant the marriage would work out. Not in the way that ensured it would not become another chain. Nothing would be perfect. Not if we kept walking this path. Christine would brush aside any of my feelings and I would act like it did not matter. It did matter. _I_ mattered and all my life I had been pushing myself aside. I could not walk that path. Not anymore.

I stared at her not really hearing her words. They did not matter. She was looking at the mirror again. I was not quite sure if that's where her eyes were actually looking, but she was not looking at me. That was for certain.

I couldn't stand it any longer.

I quickly stood up and pretending to look at the clock, I hastily said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Christine. I hadn't realized how much time had passed. I have a meeting."

It was 9:22 am, and I hoped to God see did not ask why I had a meeting so early in the morning.

Christine looked at me oddly, but nodded.

I took her hand and kissed it. Making sure that I was grinning, I looked up at her and added, "I'm sure you have a lot more planning to do for the masquerade. I wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun."

The sick feeling in my stomach had yet to go away. Instead, it worsened. It tugged at me, and I wondered if I was going to throw up on her.

Christine laughed and said, "It's okay. I have to go meet up Meg and the others soon, too. Have fun in your meeting."

I nodded quickly, bowed, and practically ran out of the room. I hoped it did not look like I was running away, even though I was. At least, Christine did not make a comment on it.

The moment I was out of the room, I felt better. My head felt clearer, but my stomach still ached a bit. I did not know what exactly had happened in the room, but hearing Christine talk about the future had just been overwhelming. Just thinking about it was making me sick. I could not believe that I had reacted to what she was saying so badly.

I was always looking to the future though. Wasn't I? I wanted to move away from my past as well as the present. The future should not scare me so. It normally did not. It was normal for me to think about my future. When everything in the present and past were so bad, I did not have much alternative but to hope that the future would be better. I loved to think about the many possibilities that the future could hold for me. Many of them involved moving away from Paris and going back to the cottage by the ocean. I would leave my title, my family, society, everything behind. I would be free. It was almost sad how simple my desire was, and how easy to achieve it could seem. There was nothing complicated about running away, was there? I could do it, but… but, I could not. Not in reality. Reality was my chains. It kept me in my place, and nothing else mattered. I would remain chained.

I snapped myself out of my doubts. They were pointless. The future was not set in stone, and I would be free of my chains. The future was something that would only hold hope for me.

It was only when Christine started to talk about it. When she started to talk about the life that we would have together, my body physically rebelled at the idea. I knew for certain that I could not marry her now. If I wanted to throw up at the thought of our future together, I did not want to see what happened if we actually made it to the altar. Philippe and mother would have a fit if I threw up on the priest. It would cause a larger scandal than the actual marriage.

It amused me, but my stomach felt ill again.

I should break it off. I needed to.

I turned to face the door, but decided right now was not the best of times. In fact, I realized that I should not have just been standing outside of her door. I was supposed to be having a meeting, and if Christine caught me in my lie, it would be difficult to explain. I couldn't just tell her that her talk of the future made me ill. I could not tell her that I was having my doubts, and I was secretly glad she did not want to wear the engagement ring because it would make it that much easier to break it off.

I hurriedly walked down the corridor. I needed a place to hide, and a way to get there without being caught by Christine or anyone else for that matter. I did not feel like acting a role right now.

I headed towards the roof because I knew that no one went up there, but I stopped myself. That roof had too many memories. I would get stuck in them, and then I would start thinking about Christine and the impending marriage. I would think about promises of love and devotion. What was love and devotion? I could not love Christine. I loved her as a friend once. Not anymore though. I could not love anyone I did not know.

Was that not one of the requirements of love? Didn't I have to know someone well before I could say that I loved them? I did not know Christine. I thought I once did. I thought that she could love me. I thought that she could see who I was and really learn about who I was underneath all these masks. I really thought it would work out.

But she could not. I could not. There was no romantic love between us. I wished her all the happiness in the world, and if I could not provide her true happiness, then I would have to let her go. She did seem happy though. She seemed too happy when she was talking about becoming the Vicomtess. I could not help but wonder if she just wanted the title. I could only now begin to see how much she really loved acting, not only on the stage, but in life as well. It suited her though. She was brilliant on stage, but why did I have such anxiety when I thought that she might be just as good on the stage of life?

She said that she wanted to quit singing. Quit singing? That was ludicrous. Singing was her life. It was a part of who she was. I would never ask her or expect her to give that up. For her to even suggest it, meant that she was either really not as interested in singing as I thought she was or that she could just bury her desires so easily. Neither seemed appealing to me.

If she did not love singing, then I absolutely did not know who she was. She had always loved to sing as a child. Her father had always encouraged her and that was when the Angel of Music story had been born. Christine had always dreamed of being a popular singer. I had always thought that the dream was commendable. I had only ever dreamed to be free. It was not something that I could ever actually work towards, so I joined Christine in her endeavors. We would sing together and I would help her practice. She was working towards achieving her dream, and I was happy to be moving forward, too – even if it wasn't for _my_ dream. I had barely moved forward in my dream to be free. I wanted the freedom to want whatever I wanted. Just like Christine had the freedom to want to sing. She did not have her family disapprovingly looking over her shoulder and telling her to change what she wanted. It seemed to be a freedom that was so natural and obvious to me, but no one else around me seemed to agree.

And, if she could bury her desires so easily, then I did not want to know who she was. I was trying to be free from that. I did not want to have to bury my desires, to bury my dreams. If she was just another one of those people, then I did not care about her at all. She was just another oppressor. Once you bury one dream, all the others eventually shared the same fate. I knew all too well. I had never given up on my hope to be free though. I hid it from my family but I also had to hide it from myself. I would have lost my mind if I had wanted freedom for all my life.

This sudden revival of my desire was turning my life upside down and I did not know what to do next. I was certain I was losing my mind right now. I was torn between a life that was already set for me, and a life where I broke away from everything and was left alone. The problem with the second life was that I did not know if I could break away or even if I did if they would leave me alone. I did not know if they would let me escape. All I knew was that it was impossible to work towards a dream when you hid it so well.

I hoped that Christine did not mean it. She probably thought that it was what I wanted to hear, and she did not want to disappoint me. I would never stifle her, and I wondered if she knew that.

I was now walking aimlessly through the halls. I could not go to the roof because I did not want to encounter those thoughts. I did not see myself going on that rooftop in a long time. In my mind, there was an apprehension attached to thoughts of the roof. But where else could I go? I could not go to my box seat because that was too open. I would easily be spotted by anyone on stage. It was one of the pitfalls of the box seat. Although it had a good view of the stage, when the lights were on, the stage also had a good view of the box.

Maybe though, the Mezzanine seats would be a good place to go. I remembered looking back at the far seats and wondering how people could see anything from them. I could barely see to the last row, and most of the lights had been on at the time. With the lights only on near the stage, no one would even be able to see that far back. It would be a perfect place to hide.

I headed towards the back seating allowing my paranoia to help me get there without anyone spotting me.

I opened the curtain and walked through quickly looking left and right to make sure that no one else was here. I was just about to take a seat, but I stopped in my tracks however, when I saw that I had missed someone in my initial scan. I was not alone.

I was still hovering above the seat as my eyes strained to see who it was. I cursed the heavens when I realized that sitting a few rows in front of me to my left was the Opera Ghost. There was no mistaking it. I had seen a gleam of a porcelain mask and who else would be hiding in the opera house.

I slowly set myself down, hoping that the chair would not make a sound. My legs would not hold me up. I suddenly felt weak, and my heart was racing in my chest. The blood was pounding in my ears and I hoped that I was not making a sound because I could not tell.

What the hell was I going to do? I tried to push myself up to stand and somehow sneak back outside, but my legs would not listen to me. My arms could barely hold me up, and my hands were shaking. I was suddenly so nervous; I did not know what to do. All I _could_ do was sit. It was completely the opposite of what my mind was telling me to do. I desperately wanted to run as fast as possible out of this situation.

I slowly and silently let go of the breath I was holding in. He had yet to notice me, which was odd. Maybe he did notice me and wanted me to leave. It was all the more reason to leave. I willed my legs to listen to me, but they would not budge.

I slouched deeply into the chair and just hoped if he turned around, I would look like a shadow. It would have been even better if I could have just disappeared.

I sat there in worry when I realized there was nothing I could do. I could not get up because it seemed physically impossible right now. I could do nothing but just sit there. I forced myself to relax a bit. The nervousness was the reason I could not move, and maybe if I calmed down, I would be able to leave.

I stared at the man before realizing that maybe he could feel my gaze. I looked away quickly, but I could not help but turn back. My eyes were drawn to him. Maybe it was because he was the only other person around, or maybe it was because I wanted to see when death came.

All I could see was mostly the back of his head but a bit of his profile. He was hunched over something and it looked as though he were writing. I wondered briefly what it was he was doing. The bigger question was, 'if the man was not dead, then why had he disappeared for so long?'

Unless he had something planned. It made sense. The phantom probably knew about our engagement. No matter how much I had denied his existence, some part of me believed in it. The events that had gone on in the opera had definitely not been accidents. The voice that had sounded in Christine's room, the notes, the voice that echoed during Il Muto, the organ music that I sometimes heard when walking in the hallways, they all were not just figments of our imaginations.

I had a weird feeling that he _could_ be everywhere at once though. He always seemed to be. He had probably been on the rooftop when we confessed our love to each other. He probably was there when I asked her to marry me. It had been a small declaration in her room where I merely asked and presented her with a ring.

Now thinking about it, her room was possibly the worst place to be to have a private conversation actually, but there had been no place else. Then when I found out Christine wanted to keep it a secret, I was glad that I had asked her in her room. She might have said no if I had asked her in public.

Wait, then it probably meant that the phantom had been listening to the conversation that I had had with Christine earlier. How embarrassing was that. I was sure the phantom had a kick out of our argument about her not wearing her ring. A fiancé who wanted to keep it a secret was just too hilarious.

I glared even harder at him. But right now, he was just sitting there oblivious to the world and working on something.

Maybe it _was_ just my imagination that made it seem like he was everywhere. He did not seem too dangerous from this vantage point. Then again, the Phantom probably did not know I was here. Otherwise, he probably would have hurt me by now.

At least this gave me some time to just watch him. I always felt like I was being watched in this building, and I was sure he was the reason why. It was disconcerting to say the least, but I was more or less used to eyes watching me. The elitists out in society watch your every move and judge you every step of the way. That was why I understood the worries that Philippe and mother had, but I just no longer cared what other people thought.

He turned his head a bit, and I froze. Instead of looking around like I thought he had been doing, he was just stretching his neck. I could see the porcelain mask and I wondered what he would have been like without his deformity. I had yet to see it for myself, but I wondered if it was as bad as people said it was.

I had heard the stories. I had heard Buquet before he had been murdered, so maybe there had been some truth in his words. I wondered what he _really_ looked like though. I had yet to actually see him fully. Always just a glimpse here and a sound there, but there was never anything substantial. The man really was a phantom.

The thought of fighting him to end it all came to my mind, but if I could not stand, I did not think I would be able to attack anyone. It would be the perfect opportunity to win my freedom. The Phantom did not realize I was here, and though I did not have a sword on me, I was certain that I could knock him out with something around me. I looked around but there was nothing but the seats. Maybe I could bash his head into the back of one of the seats. I flinched at the thought.

I never really appreciated violence. I could fight, and I could win. It was only because of Philippe and the lessons he made me take in fencing. Additionally, there were those other private lessons. They were the main reason I did not like violence. I did not like to see people get hurt, but in a way, I was desensitized to it all. Blood, especially my own, had no effect on me. There was no shock value to injuries for me. I just never wanted my own hands to cause that kind of pain. I never wanted to be like Philippe.

I stared at my hands and could feel my throat constrict. A sudden emotion overwhelmed me. Nothing was particularly sad. I shouldn't have this kind of problem breathing at the thought of injuring someone. I knew where the emotion was coming from though. I had thought that I was like Philippe. Philippe: my father, my brother, my punisher, my healer, and I think he was the only one that knew how much I acted. He simply did not care. I could _not_ be like him. I would not let myself. I prayed to the heavens that I had not mistakenly become my brother. I would never attack someone. I swore that I would only ever defend myself and those that were close to me.

This battle would not win me my freedom though. We did not even have anything to fight about anymore. I did not want Christine, so why would I attack him for her. If he wanted her, he could try to woo her again. Evidently last time, it had not worked, but that did not mean Christine would never say yes to him.

I opened my mouth to get his attention, but shut it just as quickly. It would be stupid to startle him. That was a sure way to get killed. I did not even know what I would say to the man. 'Excuse me, Opera Ghost? I was just watching you and decided to tell you that you and I are no longer rivals for Christine's love and attention. So please don't be angry with me any longer.'

That would be impossible. I would die before I said his name. Still, the man needed to know what I was planning. We were at odds right now, and I hoped it would alleviate some of the tension I felt whenever I walked into the opera house if the Opera Ghost knew we could coexist peacefully. Maybe even then, I could even talk to him civilly.

It was intriguing and it was exciting. Sadly enough, I was thoroughly caught up in the stories about him, and I would have been an avid fan actually, since I agreed with the whole Carlotta sucks at singing idea, if I had not been the patron and if he had not been insulting me. The part inside of me which rebelled against everything that was condoned by society, a part that was buried very deep within me, was jealous that someone could live outside of society. I was mesmerized by his voice, but more because of the way he lived his life by his own rules.

That was unheard of. Rules were daily facets of my life, and as far as I could tell, they made society function. It would be nice though, to experience a day without rules. It probably would not be as exciting as I thought it was because I did not really know what I would do if there were no rules. Maybe there were a few things I would do like leave Paris, or maybe go horseback riding and disappear for a while without even once thinking of propriety. That would be nice.

The phantom would probably call me an idiot for thinking these thoughts because he seemed to not think too highly about me, if first statements meant anything. The more I thought about his situation the more it seemed lonely to me. He was only one person. I would probably be lonely if the positions were switched. That was probably why he kidnapped Christine. He wanted someone to talk to. Christine was the only one who he had spoken to from what I heard. She had a way of making things seem better than they really were. It was as though she knew what words you wanted to hear. She could make you forget for just a moment. She could make loneliness seem like a distant memory. I was lonely right now though. She could no longer provide that illusion for me and I had lost every hope of finding someone better, so I guess it would not be that much of a change if we were to switch places.

That was the contradiction of society. Society provided a large group of people with whom you could interact, but at the same time, they meant nothing. I felt more alone around people than by myself. It was a relief for me to be alone most of the time, and as I was watching the phantom, I imagined in my head that we weren't rivals and that I could ask him all about what life without rules was like.

My brother had always called me childish. I hid the side from him, from everyone actually. I loved excitement and adventure. It was the child in me who believed in dragons and knights. It was the innocence that somehow had not been suffocated by the tightening chains on my psyche. Imagination and hope were the only relief in my life. I could not bear to lose them completely. I was losing hope. It was slowly becoming overrun by my doubts. I hadn't used my imagination in a while because reality seemed to press me for my attention. Here in the semi darkness though, it felt good to get lost in thoughts and imaginings that were harmless. The repercussions of my daydreaming could not hurt me like those choices I made in reality. I could imagine all I wanted.

Maybe I empathized with him too much. Maybe I wanted him to like me, because I think I could like him. I didn't actually know why I wanted to be on good terms with him, but I just did. Maybe I was becoming too desperate. I just wanted to talk to someone who understood. I knew he would understand and I wanted to know what he thought. He probably thought little of me though.

I had never really cared what other people thought about me, which is a little misleading because they did not know anything about me to start with. I did not care because I made sure that they saw what they wanted to see. If they thought that I was a spoilt Vicomte, then that was good because that was who I was portraying. It meant that I was still okay. It meant that nobody could get close enough to see how much I depended on my family's and society's opinions of me. I could not be anything else but what they wanted to see.

With the Opera Ghost though, I felt more fake than ever. Here was a person who did not have to… well, that train of thought had been incredibly stupid. I was thinking that he did not have to hide behind masks. The irony of it all. Maybe we did have too much in common. His mask was just more visible than my own. I wondered if it was easier to hide behind a mask. He did not have to worry about people being able to see all of his expressions. He did not have to worry about the scrutiny that checked if you looked truly happy or sad or impressed. It was all an elaborate act and I had to be good in order to survive. He did not have to let anyone see him though.

How odd would that be to be friends with my current rival? It was not like we had that much in difference. The only reasons we were rivals was because we wanted the same thing. Maybe he would not hate me so, if he knew that I did not want Christine any longer. Not that it would matter because I doubted that he would believe me.

The thought dawned on me that we were incredibly similar. Maybe I had found someone who could understand me. If I could get past all the boundaries set between us, then maybe we could get along. It seemed as though I could understand him all too well actually. His actions, his motives, his very being seemed familiar to me.

Our lives were comparable. I did not know what it was like to have a physical deformity, but I knew what it was like to have your family shun you. I understood what it was like to be physically beaten. I understood power and submission. I understood hiding behind masks. It was all familiar to me. Too familiar. It was almost frightening. Maybe, just maybe I was willing to let myself lose so that maybe someone could win in our battle. I no longer wanted Christine. That made losing easier, but it had been drilled in me to always win, that failure meant a beating. Losing had never an option. With the Phantom though, I felt as though giving up was letting someone like myself win. I was letting someone like myself win a piece of freedom and it made it easier. It made me want him to win. Because in our struggle it did not appear either of us would be the victor if things kept progressing the way it was.

Sometimes I wondered if Christine was just playing both of us. She could switch between praising and hating the Phantom and it was confusing for me. I wondered if she could just as easily turn on me. It sometimes angered me when she turned like that. It always made me think of her as fickle. She did not know what she really wanted and she was willing to play with our lives just to find out. I was defending him in my head, and at least, now I was beginning to understand why.

I let my mind wander to less likely events. What would have happened if I did tell him and he took it well? I could feel myself smiling. Maybe life would not be so bad because I could have someone to talk to. I could have someone who could see me because we were really reflections of each other.

It was what I wanted. It was what I had dreamed about for most of my life. This little piece of freedom was there in my mind and its clarity was shocking. It seemed so likely. Of course our friendship would not be all rainbows and butterflies. The absurdity of thinking of us talking about the weather and current events made me smile wider. It almost made me laugh. It would have been nice though if we had both been normal. Under different circumstances maybe neither of us would be so troubled. Maybe our lives would not be so terrible. That was hardly the way life ever went though. But, at least in my thoughts neither of us would be lonely.

A sudden though made me frown. Even in my imaginings things go awry. If I told him I was breaking it off with Christine, was there even a likelihood he would talk to me again? Maybe he would even kill me just to make sure I did not get in the way again.

Damn it. I would not let my mind worry about things it does not need to. The whole scenario was implausible, why should I worry about logical details? I shook my head and turned to see what the object of my musings was doing, when I saw empty space. I quickly stood up and screamed when I saw him in front of me. He quickly clamped his hand over my mouth to muffle any sound and pushed me back onto the chair.

I stared up at him with fear. He looked at me pointedly, and I nodded. He slowly removed his hand from my mouth and leaned against the back of a seat and just watched me.

I did not know what to say. It did not seem like he was going to say anything either, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"So, you're alive."

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End ch05

word count: 5,224

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Don't be too excited yet, I still need to do Erik's POV before we get to the really good part. :o)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Mezzanine seats.

Warning(s):

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Okay, so I was trying to get this chapter started and decided to do the easy part first and reply to my reviewers' replies:o)

Yeah… Angsty Raoul is just really appealing right now, because we all know Erik's got some major angst/emotional issues, why does he get to have all the fun:oP

As for the fact that I'm giving them time to have their feelings develop… I'm kind of guilty of doing that whole 'they see each other and just fall in love' cliché, I was laughing at myself because of your review (The Bell and the Black Dragon). I'm kind of antsy writing this because I _do_ just want to pair them up already. I'm way into the whole instant gratification. I think this pace is extremely slow, but I try and convince myself that it's not slow so much as deliberate. ;-) I don't know if I believe myself though.

As for the length of my chapters… I like long chapters too… I'm just having so many problems writing them. The amount of words total so far in these 5 chapters is half the amount of words of my 19 chapter fic, and I'm planning on this fic to go for at least 23 chapters (don't quote me on that though). It's killing me. -- But I'm working hard for at least 5,000 words a chapter. It's my goal, and let's hope I can keep it up and not just force the words out to make the quota. I wouldn't want to write crap for the sake of a higher word count… so let me know if I do.

Thanks to : Mithril Maiden, NightmareFX, PuppetofDreams, whatevergirl, The Bell and the Black Dragon, and Kytten… for being awesome reviewers!

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 06

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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Last Time:

I turned around, tired of hearing their conversation. The Vicomte was giving in and he no longer amused me.

That ring held an important symbolism, not only for the Vicomte, but for myself as well. It was our future. It was what we wanted. It embodied who would be the winner in our competition.

However, I knew what Christine thought of it. It was easy to tell once you knew where she kept it. I had seen her place it the first day they had gotten engaged. The ring lay amongst her costume jewelry in the dresser. It was just another play thing to put on when she acted.

o.o.o

My visit to Christine had been incredibly counterproductive. I had been tired to start, but seeing how she had been acting, I became annoyed. I could not believe that I was this irritated.

Now, not only was I uninspired, I was annoyed.

I stalked away from Christine's room and headed back down to my home. Although I had not found the inspiration I had initially been searching for, I knew I could not remain idly watching their exchange. It would only serve to aggravate me further.

I entered my home and felt a loss for what to do. In this state, I knew I would not be able to play. I was irritated and in the worse way possible, I was irritated and restless.

I forced myself to sit down. I had to at least try. For a while, I just stared at the keys. Surprisingly enough, my mind was completely blank; well, not exactly blank. There were just so many thoughts in my head that I could not actually focus on any one in particular. Placing my hands reluctantly on the ivory bars, I pulled them off almost immediately. It felt wrong to even try to play at this moment. Something in me was off and I could not place it.

I stood up and began to pace.

Back and forth. What was I doing? Where was my inspiration? Where was my passion? What was my goal? Always remember my goal.

Back and forth. My goal. I wanted her. I had wanted her at some point. It had consumed my very being. It was as though no one else had mattered. No one else had existed when I had Christine in my sight or in my mind. It _had_ been as such.

Back and forth. My goal. I had to want her. Of course… I still wanted her. I wanted her no matter what doubts ran through my mind. I would have her. She would be mine no matter what. It would be my freedom. It would be our freedom.

Back and forth. My goal. Did she want to be free? Did she even realize she was trapped? Or was she free, and simply the captor in disguise?

Back and forth. My goal. Who did she think she was? Playing with us like that. Of course, more importantly was how she was playing me. She was playing me and I was allowing it. I would have to stop that once I had her. She would understand me, and then she would stop using me.

It was bothering me.

Back and forth. My goal. She had been my goal. Had been, still was. She had to be.

It was definitely bothering me.

I stopped pacing. I couldn't help but be bothered… the way that I had been distracted by that boy. There were moments when I had not even realized my attention had turned back to him. Now that I had seen him without pretenses, he was more interesting, but that should not overshadow the fact that Christine had been in the room. Christine was there. No one else was supposed to matter when she was in the room. She was Christine. She had been synonymous with freedom and hope for so long that I was confused. I knew I wanted those things, but why would my eyes follow the Vicomte? He was… the sigh that fell from my lips could not be contained… he was interesting. He had peaked my interest and had distracted me. I did not know what to think about this new development.

Moreover, I could not determine whether it was because of his presence or my newfound acknowledgment of Christine's real nature that had made me annoyed with her. The latter might explain the annoyance, but it did not explain why I was starting to see the Vicomte – to really see him. It was frightening in its clarity how I could see him, how I could see his mask. It did not explain why I had actually empathized with him though. Me. I had felt something other than contempt and annoyance for someone other than Christine.

I didn't… I wasn't… it was definitely bothering me.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. The physical action made it easier and helped me concentrate. I was going to have her still. She was my goal.

The only problem was that something needed to change. Something. Anything.

I looked at the organ a little forlornly. I didn't even feel like playing. So close to finishing my opera, and I could not gather the courage to even try to finish. This was Don Juan Triumphant. This was my opera that would be that something to change. It was everything that I desired, and it would be the instrument with which I could obtain my desires. This climax was everything. That was partly the reason why I did not want to compose right now. This part of my opera was vital, and I did not want it to fail. Its failure would probably be the failure of my plans. I could not compose. I could not fail.

I scanned the room for anything to give me ideas when my eyes landed on my sketch pad. I hadn't drawn in a while; maybe I could get some kind of creative energies flowing.

I picked up the sketch pad and some supplies. I was almost out of the room when as an afterthought, I decided to take some blank sheet music as well.

I didn't need the organ to compose, but it was always nice to be able to hear my music aloud. It helped when I needed to make adjustments, which occurred often enough for me to prefer playing by the organ. When I simply played to hear myself, it did not matter whether the notes were perfect. I was just playing what was in my mind. The notes flowed and I allowed them to land where they landed. If it was good, it was good. If not, then I would play some more until I was satisfied.

I was a perfectionist though and it just could not be helped that my actual written music would have revisions. What was opera music if not perfection? I went through many versions of my music. They would all be similar to the original version, but I would always find areas that could be enhanced, and they would be after the next version. It was a process for me; something that could keep me occupied for many days. It used to be something that naturally came to me, and now I was struggling.

Right now, I had to get away from the organ though. I needed some other way to become inspired.

I knew exactly where I wanted to go. Since I knew I would not go onto the roof top any time soon, I headed towards the mezzanine seats. They were perfect for when I was eavesdropping on the practices and did not want to bother hiding the small comments I made aloud to myself. I unfortunately was too loud in the box seat and then people would investigate. There were times when I just wanted to be left alone, and it irritated me that I could not even think aloud. Since I knew when the staff would be finished cleaning the seats, I started to spend time in the back. I could make all the comments I wanted. Now, I would use this opportunity to have some quiet time to find some inspiration. Maybe, just maybe I could also clear my thoughts.

My mind was jumbled on the walk there. No one else was in the hallways, and I was left alone with my thoughts in the quiet journey. Thoughts of Christine and the Vicomte ran through my head. Most prominently though, I suddenly remembered that dream – the dream that had kept me awake for nights on end. It was the dream that made it impossible for me to sleep. It was the dream that made me loathe even thinking about the rooftop – though I would admit that the actual event itself also held some bearing in that. It was the dream that made it impossible to believe Christine was an innocent, young girl who could be everything I hoped for. I would see her staring through me as though I were nothing. I snorted; it was as though I were nothing but a phantom. It was a dream that made me see the Vicomte.

I was glad that I had made it to the seats. I was suddenly tired again. The lack of sleep was catching up to me, and all the walking I was doing, did not seem to be helping. I heavily dropped down in a seat a couple of rows from the back. The last row was always the darkest because no light ever reached it unless all the candles were lit. The row I sat in was marginally lit because of the windows nearby, not bright enough to be obvious, but enough so that I could see what I was drawing. I checked to see what the motion below was. The candles nearest to the stage were lit, and I could see the ballet dancers practicing. I could faintly hear Madame Giry's voice giving instructions, but the noise easily fell into the background of my mind.

I opened my sketch pad and once again I felt at a loss. What was I going to draw? I held the pencil ready and placed my hand on the page. Still nothing came.

My eyes scanned the area. I stared at the stage again, my stage. This was my opera house and that was my stage. This was my life. This opera house was my life and my cage, yet I reveled in it. I wondered what freedom held for me. Would freedom be everything I thought it was? But the problem with that was the fact that I could not truly fathom what freedom was. I simply knew that I wanted it. I wanted a life where I no longer had to hide. I wanted a life where people could understand me. I wanted a life where I was not alone. I did not think it was so hard a thing to ask, but from my place in life, it seemed impossible to obtain. A part of me did not think that such a life existed. At least not in this reality, and not with my face, not with my fate.

My hands moved. It was as though I was not actually controlling them.

Nothing in my life was easy though. If it would not be given to me, then I would take it. I would have to take it. I was entitled to it, wasn't I? As a human being, I was entitled to have the same opportunities that everyone else had. But I wasn't human, was I? I was a monster. I was a creature that was to be ridiculed and kept caged.

My hand knew what it was drawing, and some part of me knew too, but it was like watching it be revealed to me.

I wanted out of the cage, but I knew not how to. I had always been locked away, so how could I even begin to find the door? How could I even imagine what the outside was really like.

A soft curved line. A sketch really and nothing more.

I had only seen it from behind curtains and from the shadows. I had seen life as a third person. Never a part of it, and always just watching. I could never become an active part of the society I had observed for so many years now. I would have to leave this place. I would have to take Christine away from the Opera Populaire and find a place that would accept me. I would have to leave the opera house, but I did not think I could. This was _my_ _home_.

An angry dark vertical line, followed by another, and another.

I looked at the paper and saw a faint sketching of the Opera Populaire. Its likeness was perfect, but darker lines had been drawn above it. Dark vertical lines obscured the image. Bars. The beauty of the architecture was obscured by the cage that had been drawn atop it.

From my subconscious to the paper without stopping to let my consciousness see it until it was done.

It was like when I composed. I would lose myself in the music. My mind would go into a trance and all I could hear was the music. All I could feel was the notes rising and falling. My spirit followed the crescendo and diminuendo of every piece. I was conscious yet not so at the same time. I did not need to tell my hands where to go. They simply knew.

I turned the page of my sketch pad to a blank page.

I had always thought that I would be able to get out of this place. I thought that I could be able to leave the opera house and find some other sanctuary once the circus had left. It had been my initial plan. But, it had been so safe and easy to just stay at the opera house. I had learned to love this place. I knew that I could not leave without something driving me out.

That was where I hoped Christine would come in. She would be my reason. She would help me escape from this place and find a place of our own.

The dream popped into my head again.

The Christine of my past imaginings – the perfect Christine who would understand me better than anyone ever could, who would not be frightened by my face, who would not pity me – nowadays always conflicted with the Christine of that dream, of reality – the Christine who looked through me, who saw the surface and the music but nothing beyond, who could speak ill of me so easily. I wanted one and wanted to kill the other, and yet I knew the latter was the one I would receive.

My hand began to draw again. A simple line. All drawings began with a simple stroke.

It did not matter because I loved Christine. I loved. I did not know what love was. I knew passion. I knew lust. I knew obsession. I was uncertain about love though. I knew her. I had watched her grow up from a young girl into a young woman. I overheard everything she told Meg, and I knew the secrets she told no one – the secrets that I had been able to witness at least. I had to know who she was. I had been there for most of her life, but I was starting to doubt myself.

The figure of a body. A female body, with long flowing hair.

I knew her schedule: when she ate, danced, slept, or visited her father. I knew with whom she ate, how she combed her hair, how she smiled, laughed, cried. I had seen it all. I knew every facet of how she sang.

An outstretched hand. The nose, the ear...

I did not know _her_ though. I knew the surface, and what lay beneath was too murky for me to look through. I did not know her ambitions, her real ambitions. I did not know why she chose to use me, to use the Vicomte, to use us all really.

The eyes.

Her motives were a mystery to me, and that was the most important part of knowing someone. I could not even begin to guess where this would all lead because of her. She was a major variable in this equation and I knew that I had to be on guard whenever around her. She could turn on me in an instant. I had heard her praise me and then scorn me. I had seen her eyes shine at the sight of me and then harden when she realized someone else was around.

A long flowing dress, much like the one in her debut.

I had to have her still though. Even though I no longer think I love her, I would have her. She was the one. She had to be.

Shading and quick lines to separate her from the background.

Who else was there? There was no one else.

I refocused my eyes to really see the drawing. It was Christine. It was a drawing of her back really, but she had turned slightly so that she looked over her left shoulder. The hair fell perfectly down her back. The dress flowed nicely in comparison to her curls. Her hand was outstretched as though waiting for someone to grab it. She was inviting. However, her eyes looked passed me. It was the dream once again.

I turned the page quickly.

My thoughts drifted to the Vicomte. The Vicomte was a mystery. He was intriguing, and I was caught. I was always curious by nature. Curious and obsessive, but I hoped the second would not apply to the Vicomte this time. I could feel myself falling though. Just like in the dream. I could feel myself falling into another obsession. My obsessions were far from healthy, and they consumed me completely. I wondered briefly where Christine would fit in all of this. What would she become if I let myself truly become obsessed with the Vicomte?

My hand drew again.

If the scene at her room was any indication, she would simply become a pest. She was annoying me. She had been the reason I was irritated. It was either that or because of her interaction with the Vicomte in general. I did not know.

It was a smooth curved line, large, taking up a good portion of the page.

I should be more annoyed with the Vicomte. But how could I? How could I when he frowned like he did, when he sighed like he did, when he laughed like he did?

Another line.

That frown was more revealing than anything the Vicomte could have ever said. It made me realize how blind I had been. It was always with the Vicomte: first the dream, and now the room. I had been blind to Christine, and only in the dream had I fully realized how much I was deluding myself. Then in the room, I realized I had never truly seen the Vicomte either.

It was a portrait.

It was true that I would never have realized if the Vicomte did not believe he had been alone. I should have realized nonetheless. When he reverted back to smiling just to appease Christine, I felt disappointed. That frown was special. It was different. It was something. It changed the whole way I thought of the future. It was a change.

A nose, a mouth. A little uncertainty, but the knowledge was there.

I knew I should be more wary of him than of Christine considering the fact that I had been fooled so completely by his act, but I could not bring myself to do so. He did not seem to be a threat even though it was obvious that he would be. He had to be a threat. He was going to take Christine away.

The eyes. A shade, I suddenly wished I had some other colors with me. I only had charcoal though. Black.

Then the ambiguous feelings would arise. Should I just let him have her? No. I couldn't. He would not be the victor in this battle. I would. I would win because I had to.

I looked down at the sketch pad. It was the Vicomte. A very large portrait of his face. My eyes were drawn to his immediately, just like it had in that room. It was an odd mixture, this drawing. Somehow, he looked sad and happy at the same time.

I forced myself to look away. I stretched my neck to the side.

I was getting lost in his eyes again, and they were not even real. There was just something about it that made me wonder. Was I that guarded? I had a real mask to cover most of my expressions. He had his own. There was something familiar about it though. It felt as though there was something that I should remember.

He was only partially smiling, a small upturn of his lips. It was like the open expression I had seen earlier. This smile was not forced. I wondered what it would be like to really see him. I wondered if anyone ever really saw him. Somehow, I knew the answer was no.

I looked at the drawing completely now. Something was wrong. It was not in the expression.

I frowned when I realized that I had drawn him with his hair short. It was cropped, and though I had to admit he did look handsome, it did not seem right.

I immediately rectified the problem and drew his hair longer. Wisps of it falling in front of his eyes.

He looked much better with his hair longer. It seemed natural. I preferred it longer too. He would be too much like all the other elites. I did not like the thought of him blending in with the others. It did not sit well with my thoughts. I briefly wondered what it would be like to run my hands through it. I quickly followed that though with the fact that I could never grow my hair that long. The implications of that statement left unchecked in my mind.

I looked at the portrait again and smiled. Long hair. An open expression, though sad held a mixture of happiness. Life was filled with both. A small smile that looked almost conspiratorial, like he knew something that you just had to know.

Freedom must look like this.

I shook my head when I realized what I was doing. I turned the page quickly.

I had been staring at him again. I was losing my thoughts of Christine, and I was allowing it without a fight. I did not know what it was about this boy that made me think about him so much.

We were similar. I knew that. I had realized that earlier. We were more similar than I had initially thought, and that did give me some pause to think about. There was nothing more though. The Vicomte could not actually ever truly understand what I was feeling. It was desperation and desolation. It was wanting to be a part of something, to have a purpose, to live however I wanted to live.

I, who had always been trapped, knew that he could not begin to understand. Some part of me rebelled at the idea that he could even begin to fathom what I was feeling and what I had experienced.

Yet, it was that clarity. That image I had of him. When I saw him, it was almost like being on the roof top again. It was like almost grasping the ability to change and feeling as though I could, that I would have my desires. It was there, and it made me believe he would understand. For an instant, it made me believe that the Vicomte would understand what I was feeling. He would understand my past and my desires.

I saw that my hand had begun to draw another portrait. I knew who it would be off, and immediately shut the sketch pad resolutely.

There would be no more portraits of a certain blonde. No more portraits unless they were of Christine.

I had forgotten Christine again. I had forgotten that she was _my_ freedom. She would be the only way I would obtain my desires. The picture I had drawn of the Vicomte flashed in my head and I turned around to escape from it.

I froze immediately. I knew my mouth was open but I could not believe my eyes.

I turned away for a moment just to make sure that I was not hallucinating. I turned back around and saw that he was still there. The Vicomte. He was just sitting a few rows behind me. Staring at me.

I was about to yell at him when I realized that he was not really looking at me. He was lost in his own thoughts. I was annoyed with myself for not noticing that someone had been behind me the whole time. The irony was not lost on me though. The Vicomte had been staring at me and I had been staring at him. The annoyance was quickly replaced by the familiar feeling of amusement I was starting to get whenever I saw the boy.

I wondered what he was doing here and why he had not left when he saw that I was here. Was he planning on killing me? I highly doubted that because unless the boy was completely stupid, he would have tried to do so earlier. Still, that did not completely rule that possibility out. There was no other possible reason though, unless he wanted to just talk with me. That idea was absurd though.

He had been talking to Christine though. That should have lasted at least another hour or so. I wondered how he got out of that situation. I knew Christine liked to talk about everything and anything when she got started. I was surprised anyone listened to her at all. Meg always knew how to make her stop. It was a skill I still lacked. I always chose to simply leave and come back later to see if she was still talking – most of the time she was.

I looked at him and could not help but stare again. Damn it if the boy was not smiling right at me. It reminded me of the portrait I had just drawn, but there was no indication of sadness in his expression. Technically though, the Vicomte's eyes were glazed over, but the unguarded expression of happiness was obvious. His smile was natural and more than the quasi smile in my portrait.

I could feel myself begin to smile as well. It was like sunlight. It was radiant.

I fought against the urge to open the sketch pad and draw another portrait. At least this time I had the actual subject in front of me, and I did not think I could have imagined this expression if I had tried.

I looked down for a moment and when I looked back again, the smile was gone. I could not help the wave of disappointment that crashed upon me. I quickly stood up and moved toward him. Something made him frown and I could not quash the sudden urge to find out what it was. My legs moved faster than my thoughts had and I was standing in front of him in an instant.

I saw his eyes finally clear as he looked at the spot I had just been in. They widened in fear and he stood up immediately. Finally seeing me, he screamed. I rolled my eyes and clamped my hand over his mouth immediately. That was such a female reaction, to scream.

Amusement was definitely what I was feeling. I pushed him back into the chair and left my hand where it was. He had stopped screaming of course, realizing that it was futile – or maybe realizing something else. His breath was warm and he stared up at me in fear.

I looked at him pointedly, trying to gauge whether he would understand not to scream again when he nodded.

I removed my hand and leaned against the back of the seat behind me. I did not know what I was actually going to do now that I had his attention, but I would just wait and see how everything played out.

By all accounts, he should be dead by now. No one would be able to save him, and he had no weapons. It did not seem like he was going to try and attack me, so that left us nothing to do but stare at each other or talk. I was not going to talk though.

I could see that he was nervous. He was thrown off by the turn of events, but what should he expect? He had been the one spying on me. I looked at him closely. We had yet to break eye contact and I could see that in his shock, he had yet to revert back to his persona. He still had the open expression I was starting to appreciate.

I was content to just watch him, and I could see him wracking his brain for something appropriate to say.

"So," he stated uncertainly, "you're alive."

I tried to hide the smirk on my face, and hoped that I looked unimpressed. I had the urge to laugh though.

Oh, this would definitely be amusing.

o.o.o.o

End ch06

word count: 4,845

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)! Hmm, well someone did make a good point about the R/R; well I always thought of it as 'now that you've read it, review it!' :o)

I jinxed myself… I didn't make 5,000. :o( I'm sad now… review and make me happy again!

Okay, I don't really like this chapter. I'm sorry for any typos but I am so antsy today, I don't know why. I wanted to post it though, so I worked on it, but my mind is somewhere else for some reason. I'm like Erik in this chapter: there's so much going on in my mind, I just can't concentrate.

I apologize if something seems completely off. I'll rewrite again, if I can, but I wanted something out there for you guys.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Finally, a conversation.

Warning(s): Some bad language, nothing too bad. Allusions to child abuse.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note:  
Okay, I'm going to be way cliché on this part… I just really like the idea that Erik smells of roses. I correlate the two in my mind and it seems to be inseparable. --;

And, is it confusing where exactly he is?… I don't think I explained it well enough even though it is straightforward. Raoul is sitting down and Erik is in front of him. :oP Just clear that up. _I don't know why I just did that, but I did._

A/N: Haha… they finally get to talk to each other. What madness will ensue? I'm sorry for the typos. I swear I think I catch them before I post, but when I go back to reread them just to refresh my memory (I have the memory of a goldfish) I see them. I've been remiss and I don't have an excuse. so sad.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 07

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

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Last time:

A sudden thought made me frown. Even in my imaginings things go awry. If I told him I was breaking it off with Christine, was there even a likelihood he would talk to me again? Maybe he would even kill me just to make sure I did not get in the way again.

Damn it. I would not let my mind worry about things it does not need to. The whole scenario was implausible, why should I worry about logical details? I shook my head and turned to see what the object of my musings was doing, when I saw empty space. I quickly stood up and screamed when I saw him in front of me. He quickly clamped his hand over my mouth to muffle any sound and pushed me back onto the chair.

I stared up at him with fear. He looked at me pointedly, and I nodded. He slowly removed his hand from my mouth and leaned against the back of a seat and just watched me.

I did not know what to say. It did not seem like he was going to say anything either, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"So, you're alive."

o.o.o

It was one of those moments when I wish I had just kept my mouth shut. I just could not stand that we had just been staring at each other. Really though, of all the things to say. How idiotic was that statement? Obviously he was still alive. He was standing right in front of me.

Just staring. Staring at me, and currently not seeming to want to kill me. That's always a good sign. A better sign was that I was not dead. There was no reason the opera ghost would wait for me to acknowledge his presence before trying to kill me. I could have been dead before I even realized it. My heart skipped a beat. He did not look murderous. Unless… unless this was all a game and he _was_ waiting to kill me.

I could feel my heartbeat race faster and my breaths come shorter.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes when the room started to tilt. My vision blurred and darkness was creeping in.

Suddenly, a warm hand clamped my shoulder and slightly shook me. A stern voice commanded, "Breathe slower. Deeply."

Without even thinking, I did as was told. I forced myself to breathe in deeply and slowly. My heart beat slowed down considerably after a few more breaths.

The warm hand had yet to leave from my shoulder, and I looked up to see the opera ghost. He was close and still leaning forward. His eyes seemed to question me again. His eyes were searching. I could not actually figure what he was thinking, but I could feel my face burn up. I turned my head in hopes that he would not see the blush. It was suddenly hot.

I had managed to have a panic attack in front of the opera ghost. Panic attacks were actually quite normal for me. The pressures of being a Vicomte sometimes overwhelmed me. Life overwhelmed me, but I usually reserved panic attacks for times in my room when I could drag my blanket to a dark corner and just cower from the entire world. Sometimes I could work myself to a point where I blacked out. Those were the better panic attacks. I was used to them, but to have one in front of someone else was embarrassing. To have one in front of a rival was mortifying.

I had a sneaking suspicion that the blush was not only due to the embarrassment though. The proximity of him was distracting in a way I did not fully understand.

Turning to meet his eyes again, I opened my mouth to thank him when he moved closer. My throat closed up immediately and I just stared at him in shock. I leaned a little further back so that I was barely leaning against the seat. His hand was still holding me in place though. I could feel the muscles in my shoulder that were under his hand start to twitch. His grip was not too tight, but it was odd being touched by him. It made me really nervous, like butterflies were in my stomach. It was probably just the fear of being killed.

His eyes were unnerving in their intensity. If it was one thing that the phantom of the opera did not lack was passion and intensity. It seemed like he _lived_, and I was a little jealous of that fact. I did not have that passion for life. I was living from one role to another. I was hiding myself every moment of life and there really was no time for intensity in such a state.

I could not make my brain start working again. All the things that I had probably could have said to him was erased from my memory. So, all I did was stare at him while he scrutinized me. I was losing myself in his eyes.

I tried not to concentrate on his proximity. Not on how I could feel his body's heat warm me, as though the natural chill from the opera house was nonexistent. Not on how his face was incredibly close to mine. Not on how I could see every facet of the porcelain mask. Not on how the mask seemed nonexistent when I was caught in his gaze. Not on how I could see that the colour of his eyes was a clear blue that seemed to shine in the dim lighting.

I could feel the blush deepen. I did not need to have another panic attack so soon. I tried to concentrate on breathing slowly, but he was so close that our breaths were mingling. Every breath I took was a breath of him, warm air that brushed against my lips and the smell of roses completely enveloping me. It further confused me. It made my heart race and caused the uneasiness in my stomach to increase. Maybe I was getting sick.

I tried not to think about how this was our first meeting face to face and all we were currently doing was staring at each other. Of course this provided me an opportunity to really see what the man looked like, and there was nothing monstrous about him. Though technically I had yet to actually see him without his mask, but I doubted that I would care.

Under his gaze I felt naked. I felt as though everything I had ever hidden from my family, society, and myself was clear as day to him. It was all too disconcerting. I was loathe to but I had to turn my gaze. I had to keep some sort of dignity if I was really going to give Christine up to him and admit that he had won.

I looked away and suddenly the warmth was gone and the phantom had suddenly gone back to leaning against the chair.

He was no longer looking at me. In fact, it seemed as though he was downright ignoring me for a moment, which was preposterous since we were less than a meter away from each other.

I took this opportunity to really look at him. From what I could see in the dim light he was a very handsome man. I did not know what was under the mask, but if the rumours were correct, it was some sort of deformity. He was taller than me and much more well built. I knew he was strong because although he had not harmed me, I could feel the strength in his grip. From my initial reactions, I surmised that he was taller, bigger, and stronger than I was, but maybe I could beat him in speed and skill.

But those were thoughts of a fighter. Those were thoughts of a rival scrutinizing his enemy. I forced myself to look again.

His posture was one that looked relax, but he was still tense. He was waiting. He was probably waiting to see whether I would attack him or not. I thought it was obvious that I would not, but thinking about it, he was probably never relaxed. He had lived a life where he always had to be on guard. He always had someone that would attack him given the opportunity. I looked down at my hands. I would not be Philippe. I would not use these hands to hurt others if I could help it.

I looked back up and he's still not looking at me. He looked lost in thought actually. The mask seemed to stand out in the dim lighting. My eyes were drawn to it. A mask. He was hiding things as well. A mask seemed so natural in my mind. I wore a mask, didn't I? His seemed a little easier to maintain. It was a mask that frightened people away. A mask that hid his true nature. A mask that was both a curse and a blessing.

I wondered briefly why I had thought those things. He probably only thought of the mask as a curse. In fact, he had probably been ridiculed and beaten whether or not he had been wearing the mask. I understood that people's cruelties knew no bounds. It was clear as day to me that this man had been backed into a corner and was living a life he would not have chosen. Who would have chosen it though?

Yet, I still could not help but feel a little envious. I hated my family. I hated my supposed friends. I had even gone so far as to hate my fiancé. But, being alone and being lonely were two different things. I was not alone but I was lonely. It was that special loneliness reserved for when you're surrounded by so many people that did not even care about you. I would rather have the loneliness of being alone.

I looked at him and it was not pity nor jealousy I felt. I just wished him some reprieve from it all. I felt a sort of connection with him. We were similar. It felt like I _knew_ him. I could wish that someone like me could find their happiness, and that was him. It made me feel better because I did not think I would ever gain my freedom. Just maybe someone else would be able to. Maybe he would be able to.

"You're staring, Monsieur," he stated caustically. "I usually charge a fee for that."

I looked away immediately. I wondered how long he had noticed that I was watching him. He had seemed so engrossed in his thoughts that I lost myself in my own.

I was feeling a weird mix of embarrassment and amusement. I could swear that he had just made a joke, but I did not want to laugh at something that could have simply been a statement. It was of course, a touchy subject.

I could not hide the grin on my face though. So I covered it was a polite cough.

I saw the phantom raise his eyebrow at me. I schooled my features into an appearance I would usually show in society.

"I apologize greatly, Monsieur OG," I bow my head slightly, "How are you doing this morning?"

When he turned away again and did not respond, I looked at him nervously. He ignored me completely.

"I'm doing well," I continued the conversation as though he had replied. It was the proper greeting. No conversation started without some preamble.

"Liar," the phantom finally responded.

I was taken aback. It was a lie of course, but to be called on it was shocking. So he _had_ been in the room. I could feel myself bristle at the comment, but it faded almost immediately. What was there to be angry about? I knew that Christine's room was not private. I had seen her talking to the mirror. I should have been able to guess he had been there. I wondered briefly if Christine knew he was there. She had said that she would not be convinced until she saw a body, but maybe she had just said that to make it seem she did not know he was alive.

"Why have you come here?" the phantom stated directly.

At least he was very straightforward. It was a little refreshing after having to spend most of my life skirting around all the important issues. He was staring at me though, and I fought hard to keep his gaze. I was beginning to fidget though. I could not help but feel that he could see right through the role I was currently playing.

I looked away. I could feel the pretenses beginning to slip. I was used to lying. I was very good at it. Everything in my life had been a lie. It was all still a lie right now, but I could not muster up the courage to lie to this man. I could not bring myself to even create lies to be told. I looked at him almost in desperation hoping to see something that would make it easier for me to lie.

Lies. They had ruled my life. Every word out of my mouth was a lie or a half truth. It was bending facts into fiction and letting others make assumptions. I did not know what truth was really like. I could only be truthful to myself when I was tired, when I was too emotionally exhausted to hide from myself anymore. And, yet. Yet at this moment, it felt as though I could not lie.

It felt as though lying to this man would be once again lying to myself. I did not want to do that any longer. I was past the point of exhaustion. I was drained and suddenly everything came crashing down all over again. It was like being on an emotional pendulum. There were the high points and the low points. It felt as though my pendulum had stopped completely. I suddenly felt frustrated and restless all at once.

I had to clasp my hands to force them to stop moving. I looked up and resigned myself to say whatever truth came out.

He was staring at me with almost hidden curiosity, but mostly expectantly.

"I hadn't known you were here," I stated. I could not meet his eyes. I was uneasy being this transparent in front of him. I could feel my leg begin to shake. I wanted to stop the motion but it was comforting in a way.

"Why didn't you leave?" he asked the obvious question.

I shifted forward in my seat. I didn't know why I stayed. Besides the fact that I had at first been physically unable to, I could have left when I was daydreaming. I had calmed down considerably. Running a hand through my hair, I replied, "I don't know. I just didn't."

I looked up just in time to see him surprised. That was one accomplishment. He did not seem like the type to surprise easily. I was a little worried that he might think I was being impertinent. It was a truthful answer though. At least, he did not seem to be angry at me.

I started to tap my fingers against the arm rest. He stared at me for a long moment. The silence was making me more uncomfortable. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. This was me without the roles. This was the person I was without the masks. I was open to him and I hoped he could tell me what he saw. I opened my mouth to ask him when suddenly I was being pushed against the chair.

"Stop moving," he whispered irritably at me.

I nodded my head feeling the pressure of my back against the seat. The first time he had pushed me, it was a slight pressure. It could be ignored. This time the pressure was intense. I could feel every scar, every welt. I was starting to panic. I could feel them all too clearly. I struggled against him, nodding more vigorously. He needed to let go. Let go.

"Let go," I finally managed to say. I could not breathe. I grabbed at his arms hoping to pry them off but they would not budge. The pain on my back was increasing. Those scars that made it impossible for me to sleep on my back were burning. It felt as though they were making their way through my chest.

He did not loosen his grip. I struggled harder. "Please," I begged. I could remember the pain I felt when I first received them. I could distinctly remember the feel of the blood trailing down my back. It had been a constant flow but at least it had cooled the burning somewhat.

He released me and I threw my body off of the seat. Sitting on the floor, I shakily breathed as the burning sensation had dulled. I could still feel them, but then again, I could always feel them. I could feel my throat closing up and the want to cry building. I swallowed forcefully and let the cold from the floor seep into my body.

A movement caught my eye and I remembered I was not alone. The phantom sat down on the seat I had just vacated. He looked at me with open curiosity this time.

I turned my head away and forced myself to speak in even tones.

"I'm breaking up my engagement with Christine, all ties with her. I wanted you to know."

I thought of getting up at that moment and possibly salvaging some dignity, but I did not have it in me to move. I didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed or angry at what had just happened. I did not even have the energy to move up from the floor. At least I found out that I had been right, the phantom was stronger than I was. I hoped he would just leave so that I could just be alone for a moment. I was tired. More tired than I had felt in a while.

Once again, I felt his hands on me and I tried to shy away this time. There had been no butterflies last time, only the cold fear of panic. He was insistent and grabbed me a little roughly underneath my arms. He lifted me up easily into the chair beside him, and once I was seated, he immediately let go.

I looked at him questioningly. That was rather uncharacteristic. I had expected some derisive comment or maybe him gloating or something. I had not expected him to help me into a chair. This civility was throwing me off. One moment he was holding me down and the next moment he was helping me. I was thoroughly confused.

He leaned back and stared in the direction of the stage. I did not know whether or not he was actually looking there, but I turned to face the stage as well. It was only then that I realized there were people there. Namely, Christine and the ballet corps were onstage practicing. I briefly wondered where Carlotta and Piangi were, but ignored the thought.

"What are your intentions?" He stated.

Once again, a direct question. I briefly glanced at him. He was still staring at the stage. He had made no comment on the last episode. I gingerly leaned back, making sure to not put too much pressure on my scars. I turned my gaze onto the stage and stared at Christine. She was laughing and joking around with Meg and the others. I knew that laugh and those smiles. It felt incredibly fake. There had been a time when I wanted more than anything for her to smile at me and to share her laughs with me. Now, I felt nothing of the sort. I felt repulsed actually.

"I already told you. I'm giving up on Christine."

I could imagine the Christine I thought I knew. The Christine I thought I saw when she had made her first performance. That night had been the night I had felt hope surge back into my very being. It had been the night when my dreams had come back alive.

"When you stare at her like that," he commented coldly, "I hardly believe you."

I could hear the suspicion in his voice, but I could not stop the snort from escaping, "It is not her I love. I do not know her. You need not _steal_ her away from me. I do not own her."

"Stealing what, in truth, is mine," he replied angrily. He turned to face me and I returned the gaze. I had nothing to hide.

"Indeed," I replied. He was angry and that was always dangerous, but I was at a point where I could not bring myself to care. I could not lie to him and I no longer wanted to. Our rivalry was pointless. "Conquest is assured. You needn't worry."

He calmed down noticeably. "You do not love her." He stated.

I did not know whether or not he needed a response to that, but I replied nonetheless. Looking at the stage, I spoke jokingly, "No dreams within my heart but dreams of love."

It was the truth though. I had dreams of love, but they had been shattered. I had thought that love was where my freedom lay. I wanted to drop the pretenses. I wanted to drop the roles. I wanted the freedom to be whoever I wanted to be. For that, all I needed was one person. Just a single person in the entire world to understand me. A single person to love me. A single person that turned out to _not_ be Christine.

"And haven't you come here," the anger was back in his voice. I almost turned to look at his expression. He continued, "in pursuit of your deepest urge. Have you not found it in her?"

This time I do look at him. I could feel his gaze on my face, and I wanted to make it absolutely clear that there was no catch to what I was telling him. There was only truth. I looked at him calmly in the eyes, "I do not love her. No second thoughts, I have decided."

He looked at me, searching again for the truth in my statements. It seemed as though there was nothing I could hide from him. He was the first to turn away. He looked at the stage lost in thought.

I continued to explain, "I think she loves you anyway. However, she was once my closest friend and I wish her no harm. So treat her well."

I knew the warning tone in my voice would get his attention. I was not one to make threats, but it could not be helped. Truthfully, a part of me did not care if she got her heart broken, but that was just the vindictive side. He looked at me with disdain before turning to face the stage once more.

"So the games we've played till now are at an end," he stated detachedly.

I realized he was right. He probably said it with relief, but the realization made me inexplicably sad. Now that everything was through, there was no reason to be here. Even though I was the patron, the reason I came here everyday was not because of opera house business, I could actually do those things well enough if not better from the comfort of my own home. I had come to the opera house at first because of Christine, but that was through before it really ever started. Then I had come here to maybe catch a glimpse of the opera ghost, but now that was ending right now too. This man _was_ the opera ghost, and now that I was no longer a threat to him, I would not see him again. It was a little disappointing. I briefly considered suspending his pay, but that would be ludicrous and someone would probably die. So this was it. This was where my adventure ended.

"Yes. It's over. She's not who I wanted," I rethought that statement, "She's not who I thought she was."

I mumbled quietly to myself, "I'm not who she thinks I am either."

This was defeat. I had given up all claim and I was defeated. However, I should not feel so relieved. I was relieved that there would no longer be enmity between the phantom and me. At least I would not have to worry about my life. However, it meant that I would not gain my freedom. I would not find the one who would see me for who I was. The one thing that gave me the greatest consolation though was that the phantom would be getting his freedom. I was certain that this was his dream, and I could not bear to stand in the way of someone else's dream.

"You are still engaged though," the phantom turned his attention back at me.

"I had thought to do it soon."

I saw him roll his eyes. That had been a noncommittal answer, but I did not know when I would be able to muster up the courage to do it. I did not know when the proper time was. Was there even a proper time to break up an engagement?

"Soon indeed," he replied suspiciously.

So maybe I had not actually thought that part out. The action was going to be harder than telling the phantom. I had survived this encounter, so maybe I would survive that encounter with Christine. She could not be more frightening than him, right?

The phantom turned to face me. Looking me directly in the eyes, he stated, "I will be lenient with you. You have until the masquerade to break up the engagement. That is one month. If you do not, I will kill you," he paused to see if I was following, "very slowly."

Had I not been worried, I would have found that dramatic pause amusing, but as it were, it was very effective. I feared for my life.

So that was it. This was the end of the conversation. Except… I found myself not wanting it to be.

"How did you know about the masquerade?" I asked quickly.

He looked at me as though I were stupid.

I held my hands up in defense. "I understand completely. I heard everything you said. Masquerade. Kill me." I was babbling but I could not stop myself. "Slowly."

He looked at me peculiarly.

I shrugged, "I just wanted to know."

"This is my opera house," he said challengingly, "I know everything that goes on in it."

I nodded. This was awkward. I was placed in a very bad position. I did not want him to leave yet, but I did not know how to make him stay. We had said our business, but what else was there? Why did I even want him to stay longer? I did not want to think about that.

"You aren't," I began quickly before he could think to leave, "going to kill me now, are you?"

He scoffed at me. Though he was not looking at me, he had not moved from his seat, and that was oddly comforting. "Does it look like I'm going to kill you?"

"Should I know what that's supposed to look like?"

I really did not know why I was saying these things. But the desire to make him stay longer, to talk to him just a little more was clouding my reason.

This time he looked at me. I simply stared at the stage and ignored the fact that it was incredibly distracting for him to be looking at me like that.

"You'll know," he responded.

I knew that I should not feel this relaxed around a murderer, but I just was. I could not explain it. He had confused me in the beginning, but now I felt completely at ease. I was still tired, but I was okay with that. I was okay with letting the exhaustion run its course. It was as though this were the first time I had been fully relaxed.

I was inordinately pleased to notice that the phantom was not moving from his seat either.

Conversationally, I ventured to ask, "Can I see your face?"

He immediately responded, "Can I see your back?"

I looked at him in shock. So he did want to know about it. I had thought he did not even care to know why I had reacted to him as such. He had let the issue pass without comment and I thought I was safe.

"No," I replied vehemently.

He tilted his head to gaze at me lazily, "Then no."

I stared at him for a moment before feeling myself start to smile. He reminded me of a petulant child. I suddenly started to laugh. This was possibly the weirdest conversation I had ever had in my life. It made me think that my imagination was not too farfetched. We were talking as though we were not rivals. As though we could be friends.

It was as though the fact that we had been rivals, that he had just threatened to kill me slowly faded into oblivion. It no longer mattered. I wanted to keep on talking to him. Maybe I _had_ already died. But seeing him looking at me with those eyes, I knew it had to be real.

"I…" I began to say before I heard someone yell out 'Vicomte.'

I looked around and a messenger came running in.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Monsieur."

I worriedly turned around to tell the phantom to leave, but he was already gone. I faced the messenger again and waited expectantly. My façade was firmly back in place. I was the haughty Vicomte once again, "You have found me. Now, tell me what you want."

The messenger quickly nodded his head, "I was sent by the Comte to tell you…"

I interrupted him, "There's no note or letter? How am I to believe you were actually sent by my brother?"

I asked him suspiciously. There was no real reason for me to question him, but it felt like something a Vicomte would do. It was obvious the man was out of breath and nervous to be inside the opera house in an area not well lit. It amused me slightly. I did not think anything could really be that important. Everything had been fine when I left this morning and with my brother home… well, I was certain that no one would even dare to come up against my brother.

"There was no time. He says that you must come home immediately. He says it's urgent and it pertains to your mother's health."

Hearing this I froze. My mother's health? This had to be something big. I nodded my thanks to him and sparing one glance around the mezzanine seating, I bolted out into the hallway.

Something was wrong, and I could feel my adrenaline pumping. What could have possibly happened to my mother? I had barely been gone a few hours. And though I might be disappointed and angry with her, I did not want her to die.

I did not want anyone to get hurt anymore. Least of all the people I knew.

I rushed out of the opera house and headed home.

o.o.o.o

End ch07

word count: 5,084

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Ha, I give Erik vertigo and Raoul panic attacks… how odd. They're similar enough.

LOL, this chapter made me laugh because of the whole lyrics thing. I tried to make it flow, but it was hard and random, so I did not put a lot of the lyrics in technically, but they're there and kinda obvious. (and if you didn't notice, tsk-tsk-tsk. I'm disappointed in you.)

That and I was practically screaming at Raoul to take his head out of his ass and realize Erik was the one! ;o) I'm evil aren't I?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Finally, a conversation.

Warning(s): I dunno…

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: none that I can think of right now.

A/N: Way on the sorry side of things. I had a major project due this weekend and I did not have any time to write. I tried to finish it yesterday, but I had to work. I was doing so well, too:o(

Do you know what I just realized? I realized that I actually haven't watched the movie in a very long long long time. I saw a clip of it earlier this week and noticed that it looked completely foreign. I had constructed a whole POTO world in my head that it was odd to see the differences on the screen – especially since Raoul was not acting the way I wanted him to. I can give some leeway to Erik of course, but I remembered why initially I had not liked Raoul. He's not really given a good role to play in general. :o( We should just remake the whole film the way we want it. Raoul deserves better. He's not a fop. (that and the movie was not all that great!)

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 08

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

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Last time:

I could see that he was nervous. He was thrown off by the turn of events, but what should he expect? He had been the one spying on me. I looked at him closely. We had yet to break eye contact and I could see that in his shock, he had yet to revert back to his persona. He still had the open expression I was starting to appreciate.

I was content to just watch him, and I could see him wracking his brain for something appropriate to say.

"So," he stated uncertainly, "you're alive."

I tried to hide the smirk on my face, and hoped that I looked unimpressed. I had the urge to laugh though.

Oh, this would definitely be amusing.

o.o.o

I hoped it seemed as though I was not grinning. I'm not sure why, but the usual annoyance I felt when I saw him was a distant memory. I was torn in deciding whether that was a good or a bad thing.

He still looked a little frightened so that was a good sign. I would not want him thinking he should not fear me. I would not want him thinking that I would not hurt him. However, as I continued to look at his face, I doubted if I could. At least, not this time.

I liked this expression. Not because of the usual reason of being able to assert my authority, but because on this boy, the look was alluring. His fear was plainly visible in his eyes, the eyes he had yet to guard. His mouth was slightly agape though a moment ago, his tongue had darted out to wet his lips. My eyes immediately caught the action. He gulped and my eyes trailed down his neck. I caught myself from the path my eyes had been following and focused on his face.

I wondered briefly what was wrong with me. I had already assessed the Vicomte's physical attributes the moment he had walked into the opera house. I had to assess him because every new patron was a potential threat. Everything and everyone had a price but me. I will admit that I had the salary that I demanded, but that was really just a bonus. It was a reason to become angry and not something that would actually appease me. I would injure whoever I wanted whenever I wanted, whether or not I received my pay. Worse though, I had correctly pegged the new managers as people who would have a price. Theirs was just lower than what I had initially estimated. It made running my opera house a little more difficult. It had meant that I had to watch the new patron more closely. So I had. Possibly more closely than I had necessarily had to, but for the sake of my livelihood, I had.

With so many unoccupied locations in the opera house, it had been easy observing the Vicomte. I knew his posture, his stance, his gait. I knew his voice and his hand gestures. I knew his laugh, his smiles, and his looks. I knew every aspect I could of him. Yet, only the most obvious aspects. It had only been this morning that I had been able to see the Vicomte up close. It had only been a few hours ago that I had realized the boy who I had been watching was not the real thing. I had been observing a role. A role that he played exceedingly well. I was both wary and intrigued by him further with this news. It was a challenge to discover who the real person was and I was excited to be able to take it on. I liked challenges.

It seemed as though he was making it easy for me. Right now, it was as though I could read him easily. Not that I found myself minding. This was one challenge that did not seem to matter on the difficulty. It only mattered what I discovered in the end. I would have to pay more attention to him. I could feel myself become eager, and I immediately quashed the feeling.

I could see him mentally berating himself for his comment. Of course I was alive. I was standing right in front of him. It was not as though anyone had chased me away. I could not be chased away.

I had simply been avoiding human contact for the past five months. I had been planning my revenge. Now, however, the plan seemed to have no basis. I had not yet killed the boy, and the initial plan was to be done with him quickly. There had been other plans – plans that involved intricate designs and very interesting torture sequences, but I had decided on simplicity. I did not have the energy to do such things any longer. I wanted this lunacy to end just as much as the Vicomte probably did. So, I had thought to kill him quickly. However, I had not thought he would actually walk right up to me.

I stared deeper into his eyes, trying to gauge what ulterior motives he could have. I briefly wondered if I should just make my escape now, or if I should wait and see what he had to say. I _was_ curious as to why he had been watching me.

His eyes glazed over a bit. It was then that I noticed that his breath was coming shorter and faster. He pinched the bridge of his nose and those eyes that I had been caught in shut tightly.

My hand shot out and I stopped myself before I touched him. I stared at my limb as though it was foreign. I had not consciously meant to move. I did not know what I was doing. It seemed every time I was with the Vicomte, my impulses took over. I had not meant to stay and eavesdrop at the mirror. I had not meant to stare at him. I had not meant to draw him. I had not meant to get caught up in his eyes. I had not meant to confront him at all. I had not…

I heard his breath hitch and the short distance between my hand and his shoulder was gone. I leaned forward and tried to catch his eyes, but they were squeezed shut. I looked at his pained expression and felt a pang of worry.

He felt warm underneath my touch. I had to steady him because he was swaying, and it sounded almost as though he was going to hyperventilate. I was not sure whether it was because he was breathing hard or because I was close to him, but I could feel his breath on my face. I deduced that it was the former because I could not be that close. I always demanded my personal space. I abhorred being too close to strangers, to anyone really. The only person I had been physically near was Christine. I thought that she was the only person I could stand to be near. So, I could not be that close to him. I was just close enough to see the slight creases at the corner of his eyes and the small movement his open lips made as they struggled to breathe in more air.

"Breathe slower. Deeply." The words left my mouth before I really had time to assess the situation completely. I shut my mouth quickly with a frown. I was not supposed to be showing him this much concern. I was supposed to observe and find out more about him. My tirade would have continued but almost immediately after I had commanded him to control his breathing, he did it.

My hand was still on his shoulder and I was a little shocked to feel him taking deeper breaths. I had to mentally pause at that. He had listened to me? We were enemies, rivals, and he followed my suggestion. Though I did not currently want to analyze why I had helped him at all, there was something very wrong with his reaction. I could not pinpoint what exactly was wrong with it, but I knew that something was off. The behaviour was so acquiescent. Almost like he had been trained, and the thought was more disturbing to me than I would like to admit. Something had to be wrong, and it probably had something to do with the reason why the Vicomte had been staring at me.

I could feel him calming down beneath my fingertips. I was loathe to remove my hand, so I simply did not do it. He was currently in no position to say otherwise.

He looked up at me finally. I searched his eyes to see if he was really alright. He looked alright. His eyes were a little unfocused, but that was to be expected. He was, however, keeping a tight rein on his breathing. I noticed the extra effort to keep it steady. Maybe he would have another episode.

I noticed his face had a slightly red hue, almost as though he was blushing. I was not certain though. It could have been just because he had been having problems breathing, but I could almost swear. What reason was there to blush though?

He could be sick. Then again, I had just seen him earlier this morning, and he had seemed well enough. He was however a little warm beneath my hand. Technically the only other person I had touched liked this had been Christine and she had been a little cold to my touch. It was probably because of the chill in my home, so I did not have anyone to really compare to. I was tempted to feel his forehead, but I had a sneaking suspicion he would really blush if I did.

I wondered if it was my fault that he had had that episode. I probably was considering all the rumours that went around about me. It might also be because he knew we were enemies, and the last time he had heard about me, I had murdered someone. Well, he had actually been there too. I tried not to think about that night because it would only bring me memories of the rooftop. I concentrated on the moment.

When I was appeased that he would not have another episode, I looked to find some other reason than myself as to why he had hyperventilated.

He kept my gaze evenly for a bit before looking away and turning his head to the side.

I found that I also liked this expression on his face. I liked the rose tint on his usually pale cheeks. I liked the uncertainty. It was not fear, but it was something akin to shyness, timidity… embarrassment. That was it. He was embarrassed? He bit his lip and continued to stare at the wall. I knew he could feel my gaze and he was beginning to shift in his seat. Yes, he was embarrassed. He _did_ have some sort of episode in front of me. I did not particularly care but I could understand why he could feel some sort of embarrassment. It was a sign of weakness. I was his rival, and any sign of weakness was something to be embarrassed about.

But, then again my thoughts brought me back to the possibility that maybe _I_ was making him uncomfortable.

I smirked, glad that he did not see it. If he was this uncomfortable with my presence, he should not have stayed. Now, he would just have to bear with it.

I waited patiently for him to acknowledge me again. I found that my patience was suddenly considerably longer. Usually, it was non-existent, but I did not seem to mind waiting for him. I found myself willing to because I had a feeling it would be worth the wait.

He finally turned to meet my eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, and I leaned forward to test whether I was correct on him being uncomfortable around me. Whatever he might have said died on his lips. He stiffened immediately under my grasp, and I struggled to keep a straight face. The muscles underneath my hand began to twitch slightly.

He tried to pull away from me, but I was still holding him in place. His eyes had widened comically and I felt myself grinning. Cute…

Wait.

I could not believe I had just thought that the Vicomte was cute. Admittedly, he was handsome. I had thought along the same lines when Christine had chosen him. I had deduced that she had chosen him simply because he was nice to look at. I still think she had been thinking of his looks, but now I was certain she thought of the money and the title as well. Now _I_ was thinking of his looks though, and it was disconcerting at best.

Furthermore, I wanted to touch him more. Just having my hand on his shoulder, gave me some sort of thrill. I was calmer, in the sense that I was more patient and the urges to kill had actually gone away. The monster that I was had been suppressed by the Vicomte's presence. It was a vast change because the monster had worsened when the Vicomte first came to the opera house. I had seen him as competition and I had been enraged. It had been preposterous. Everything had been going well with Christine and then a childhood friend appears. It was as though fate were being incredibly unfair to me… again. Did that mean I no longer viewed him as competition? I was actually more worried that it meant that I no longer really wanted Christine, but that could not be true. I had to have Christine. There was no doubt. But this feeling, the peace that thrummed through my whole body was something I had been trying to accomplish that for ages now. It was confusing to find the feeling with the Vicomte.

However, touching him also made me uneasy. My other palm was sweating and I was becoming easily distracted by every breath that the Vicomte took. By the almost unnatural warmth I could feel from his body. By the close proximity of his face, which was set in an expression of not fear and loathing like I usually saw, but almost expectancy. By the eyes that had caught me once again; this time the real things. It felt as though we had a connection. I felt like I suddenly _knew_ him. In my hopes of trying to discover more about this boy, looking at him at this moment I felt a sensation of familiarity.

I saw him redden further. It _was_ a blush. I could feel his heart race faster and I wondered if he was going to have another episode. I heard him concentrate on his breathing again. The slight puffs of air against my exposed cheek made me shudder unexpectedly and I almost pulled away. Some part of me forced my body to stay though.

I realized belatedly that I was nervous. I could not recall the last time I had ever been nervous because I was a man of action. I was a man with a mission and goals, and I never had time to become nervous. Now though, I could feel my own heart beat faster.

I stared at him, trying to find out what it was about him that was making me so confused.

I was a little surprised to see him keep my gaze this time. I wondered why he looked at me so openly. I wondered why he could bear to look at me. I was wearing my mask of course, but the very sight of the mask often was enough to horrify people. Yet, here was the Vicomte, a sworn rival who did not shy away. He was in fact looking back, not in disgust, but in open interest.

I wished he would not look at me so. It was too open, too revealing. I had wanted to know about him, and here it was laid out before me. All it took was a simple glance and I could practically read every emotion. The most frightening fact was that I could not bear to look away. I wanted to watch as each emotion flit across his eyes. I wanted to see him. I wanted to see what was behind that mask he wore. It was as though I could discover what was truly behind my own mask by looking at him. I was tired of masks. I was tired of hiding, and this was my chance to unmask some facts. For some reason, I did not mind that it was the Vicomte I was trying to unmask. In fact, I was relieved that it was him. We were similar, and that was comforting.

Then he looked away and I could tell this time that he was finally putting up the barriers. It was a little too late now because he had dropped all defenses completely already. It felt as though I was addicted to that gaze.

I leaned back in an effort to clear these disturbing thoughts. Looking at his profile, I could not help but feel drawn to him. I had to look away from him to really be able to concentrate.

What was he doing? What was _I_ doing? It would have been better if he had not shown up. Somehow I doubted that because he had already consumed my thoughts before showing up. However, it had only gotten worse with his appearance. Worse or better? It could not be helped any longer. I knew that I wanted to learn more about him; what warm, unspoken secrets will I learn in this meeting?

I noticed from the corner of my eye that he was appraising me. I wondered what he saw. Did he see a monster? A beast that was hardly human. Did he see a villain? Was I simply a rival to him, something to be overcome in his desire to be with Christine?

Christine. I had been ignoring this line of thought. I had been ignoring that she ever existed. If she had not been around, things would have not been so complicated. I could not believe I had just thought that. Christine was everything. She was my freedom. How could I wish that she had never existed?

This Vicomte was muddling up my mind. I could not think straight when I was with him.

Christine was an angel. She was beautiful. I could not sing her praises enough. She…

I became distracted when I noticed that the Vicomte had looked down at his hands in sadness. Maybe disdain. I wondered what caused that expression. The walls had come down again, and it was interesting to see him frown again. Just like in Christine's room, this frown held so much emotion in it that I could not look away. This was not only an honest expression; it was one that made me feel sympathy for him again. Like there was some old wound that troubled him. I wanted to learn what it was that followed him, that haunted him.

I quickly looked away when he looked back up, and I could feel him staring at me. I felt a little uneasy being studied by someone else, but I allowed it this time. I had never let people look at me after the circus because all people ever responded with was jeers and horror. At least I had my mask on. It was a comfort, but still, the Vicomte's gaze burned. It was like a raging fire that was flooding my soul. I knew that I could read him easily, and now it felt as though I was transparent as well. It was unnerving and it put me on edge.

"You're staring, Monsieur," I stated caustically. I had not meant for it to come out so roughly, but I could not stand to be under that sort of gaze much longer. I looked at him and suddenly felt bad for my tone. He looked away immediately. "I usually charge a fee for that," I added in hopes that he would be put a little more at ease.

I could see him grinning even though he tried to cover it with his hand and a cough. He was too obvious. I raised my eyebrow at him in the only sign of acknowledgement I would give to his reaction.

At least he had realized I had made a joke. I lost my irritation to the amusement of seeing him unsure of the proper way to react. Of course he had heard stories of my mercurial moods. He wouldn't know what to do.

He schooled his features and I marveled at his mask. I could almost believe this was how he really acted. Maybe he really did act this way though. Maybe what _I_ saw was an anomaly. I was certain that it was the real him though. I was certain of that. I could see that this expression and attitude was merely a cover for what lay beneath. I wondered briefly who he showed it to. If he did not show it to his fiancé or his business partners, maybe he showed it to his family or friends.

Why would he let his guard down with me though? Maybe I just caught him in a moment of weakness. He did have that episode.

I was annoyed though. I was annoyed with _this_ Vicomte. The person that I thought I had known. The one who I could easily have killed. Who did he think he was putting that mask back on? Did he think I was dense enough to not realize he was lying to my face?

"I apologize greatly, Monsieur OG," he bowed his head slightly, "How are you doing this morning?"

I looked away, bored with his question. If he was going to pretend that I was simply another one of those elitists, I would not listen to him. I could not bring myself to leave though. I wanted to stay and learn more about him. I wondered if he would just drop the pretenses again. It was really annoying that he thought I would not be able to see the role he was playing now that I had seen otherwise. He had to have realized I had actually _seen_ him.

I would not talk to a mask.

Hypocrite.

The word rang in my head. I _was_ being hypocritical. I knew it, but I would not remove my mask for him. He had not seen the deformity underneath my mask. In truth, I had not seen his deformity. I still did not know what dark secret he hid in the gaze that seemed so open.

I was surprised when he continued talking as though I had replied. Okay, so maybe he was not so bad when he was playing his role. At least he amused me still.

"I'm doing well."

Now that warranted a response, "Liar."

I watched in fascination as he physically recoiled. So, now he knew that I had been listening in on their conversation. The pretenses were gone in an instant, and I could see him become incensed. I wondered if he would attack me. It was pretty obvious that it had been a private conversation, but no conversation was private inside the opera house. I was surprised once again when he calmed down just as quickly.

This was why I knew I should be wary of him. I did not know how he would react. I did not know what to expect from him. I could easily read him when he acted like the Vicomte, but as this person, this personality, as… as Raoul, I could not even begin to fathom how he would respond.

"Why have you come here?" I asked directly. It was better if I confronted him straight on. I could better gauge his responses and then deduce how he would respond in the future.

He looked away again. He often looked away when uncertain. It was at those times that I could catch a bit of confusion and uncertainty in his expression. It appeared as though he was torn. Torn between what? Fact and fiction? Would he try to lie to me? That was always a bad choice because I could tell when someone was lying.

I knew that was not completely true. The only people who had successfully lied to me had been myself and the Vicomte. I hoped I could now tell if he was lying to me, but I doubted that I could if the Vicomte really wanted to hide something.

His hands were making some compulsive movements, and I wondered what exactly he was thinking. I wished he would look back at me. He clasped his hands to stop them from moving. He looked up at me, and he looked resigned. I had not expected that.

"I hadn't known you were here," he stated. It appeared to be the truth. It had to be because how would he have been able to figure out I was here. His first words to me had been 'so you're alive.' Evidently, he did not know I was here. It was not quite the answer I was trying to obtain, but at least it had been the truth.

I looked at him, waiting for anything more. Instead he was avoiding my gaze and his leg began to shake.

"Why didn't you leave?" I asked the obvious question seeing he was not going to supply the answer without prompt.

He shifted forward in his seat. I watched as he became a little more agitated. He was nervous, and I waited to see what he would say. His behaviour was confusing. I did not know how to respond to it. The constant movement was making _me_ agitated though.

Running a hand through his hair, he replied, "I don't know. I just didn't."

Now that response truly surprised me. I was still half expecting him to answer as the Vicomte. To answer as my rival, but this honesty was shocking. Enough so that I was sure he saw the expression on my face. There was no falsehood in his response. At least I knew he was as confused as I was about this whole situation. I paused to think about our situation. He had to have some reason to have stayed, but if he did not even know it, then how was I supposed to get it out of him.

I became distracted when he started to tap his fingers against the arm rest. I stared at him for a long moment expecting him to stop, but he did not. In fact, I could see that the silence was making him more uncomfortable. I realized too late that he was going to say something but I did not bother to stop myself from pushing him against the chair, almost violently.

"Stop moving," I whispered irritably at him.

He stopped immediately and nodded his head. The reprieve from those motions did not last very long because Raoul began to squirm in the seat. He was trying to move forward, but my weight would not let him. If he was not going to listen to me, he would be forced to be acquiescent through force.

That was then that I saw the panic and fear in his eyes. I had thought that he was just being disobedient for the sake of rebellion or something. I hadn't thought there could be another reason. He was having another episode and I was about to release him when I thought twice about it. I held him and waited to see what was going to come of it. This time I was certain that I had been the one to set it off, but this was different from last time.

"Let go," he said in a strangled voice. I did not let up though. This was something. This was something I would not have been able to find out about him through simple words. He was barely breathing though, and he started to grab at my arms.

I was stronger than him though, and I was not letting him go until I learned something. He was squirming more, trying to get off of the chair. Maybe he was claustrophobic? I doubted it. I had been closer to him earlier. It was not claustrophobia.

His chest was heaving and I wondered if he was even really getting any air. He struggled harder and I noticed that he was fighting with everything he had to get his back off of the chair. That was the difference between the last time I held him and this time.

"Please," he begged. It was the broken word and the crushed look in his eyes that made me release him. The darkness was back in his eyes. The darkness that I did not know but felt as though I understood. It was something that haunted him. It was what I wanted to discover.

The moment I released him, he threw his body off of the seat. Sitting on the floor, he shakily took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He was having a harder time to control himself this time though. I noticed his mind was somewhere else completely. He was caught up in a memory. I knew what that was like. It was a cage that was more dangerous than any physical cage could ever be. Memories would haunt you into insanity. I wondered how close to that insanity Raoul was.

I sat down in the seat he had just vacated and waited for him to come back to this moment. I looked at him and waited for an explanation.

He looked away from me resolutely and spoke in even tones, "I'm breaking up my engagement with Christine, all ties with her. I wanted you to know." His voice sounded dead, emotionless. It was disturbing – worse than when he spoke like an arrogant fop as the Vicomte.

I watched as he just sat on the floor. He had spoken words that should mean the world to me, and he was sitting slumped on the floor. He was not looking at me. I wanted to know if what he said was the truth.

I did not know how to feel though. I did not understand why I did not feel the elation I knew I should feel. I should feel relieved. I should feel joyful, but instead I felt worried. I felt unsure.

The way he had said it, the tone of voice, and his posture were all aspects that screamed submission and the image conflicted with the ones I had of him. He was giving up. Earlier though, he had been speaking to Christine and yet said nothing. How new a development was this? Was this just some whim that he would take back a few days later when he realized what he had done?

I needed answers, but the way that Raoul was sitting on the floor made it seem as though he _was_ really giving up. He did not seem to have any energy left. After having two episodes so close to one another it was not a surprise, but I wanted him to look me in the eyes when he said those words. He looked just about ready to collapse.

I reached forward to get him off of the cold floor before he really got sick. The concern was only selfish of course. I just wanted answers. He actually shied away from me this time though. I tried to move, but his motions were sluggish. I was just beginning to see how tired he really was. Maybe being engaged was too much for him. Maybe Christine was too much for him. Maybe their engagement had been the secret that had been enough to break him.

I grabbed him roughly underneath his arms and lifted him easily into the chair beside me. Once he was seated, I made certain to let go immediately before he had another episode. This way, we could talk. Now though, I did not think I could look him in the eyes.

I knew he was staring at me in confusion. One moment I was holding him down, and then the next moment I was helping him off of the floor. He needn't worry though. I was just as confused with my behaviour as he was. I did not know why I kept treating him well. At least this time, I could say that I wanted him well just to make sure he would leave Christine alone.

I leaned back in the seat and turned to look at the stage. Christine and the ballet corps were onstage practicing. I watched her detachedly. I used to become excited with the mere sight of her. She had been my inspiration. Now there was nothing. Now, it felt as though she would never be what I really needed. That was probably just the depression talking. That was just the frustration.

I glanced at Raoul from the corner of my eye. He was watching the stage as well.

"What are your intentions?" I asked directly. I still did not know how to approach Raoul. With the Vicomte, I knew exactly how to approach him, with sword and lasso. But I did not seem to want to injure Raoul. He seemed broken enough. I wanted to ask him about his episodes, but doubted he would reply honestly. I knew this was _the_ secret he would keep. I saw him gingerly lean back onto the chair, and knew something was wrong with his back.

The sound of Christine's laughter rang through the theatre. She was laughing and joking around with Meg and the others. I knew that laugh and those smiles. It felt incredibly fake. There had been a time when I wanted more than anything for her to smile at me and to share her laughs with me. Now, I felt nothing of the sort. I felt repulsed actually. This was the Christine that looked through me. That did not see me.

"I already told you. I'm giving up on Christine." He replied, but he stared at the stage intently. He was staring at her longingly, and I felt disgusted. I felt a surge of emotion that I could not quite place, but along with it was irritation.

"When you stare at her like that," I commented coldly, "I hardly believe you."

He was probably still in love with her. This was probably some ruse of course. What was I thinking? I had actually thought that Raoul was going to give Christine up. I did not think he would be so conniving. It was a brilliant plot. Make me think that there was no competition so that I would let my guard down. Maybe Raoul was too much of a good actor for me. I could not understand him.

He snorted and replied, "It is not her I love. I do not know her. You need not _steal_ her away from me. I do not own her."

"Stealing what, in truth, is mine," I replied angrily. I turned to face him and he returned the gaze calmly. It was his way of trying to prove to me that he had nothing to hide. I did not know who I was facing though. I thought I had been talking to Raoul, but maybe this was the Vicomte in disguise. I hesitated looking into his eyes, but I resolved myself not to be fooled.

"Indeed," he replied. I was angry and the common reaction would be to cower or try to appease me, but it seemed as though this boy did not care. He stated again, "Conquest is assured. You needn't worry."

He looked at me in the eyes with no hesitation. It was like he was forcing me to see that he was not lying. I was stupid enough to believe him.

I calmed down noticeably. "You do not love her."

I stated the truth I had seen in his eyes. He had once loved her, but now there was nothing. I wondered what brought about this change, but he continued talking.

Looking at the stage, he spoke jokingly, "No dreams within my heart but dreams of love."

How poetic. I did not realize he had it in him. It was a romantic thought that unfortunately I shared with him. The sentiment rang all too true with me. I loved Christine. I was searching for that one person to be with. I just wanted one. I wanted to drop the roles. I wanted the freedom to be whoever I wanted to be. For that, all I needed was one person. Just a single person in the entire world to understand me. A single person to love me. Was it so hard to ask?

It appeared as though Raoul had wanted the same thing. Maybe Christine was the one for him or maybe she was not but I had a feeling that he would have given her up regardless. He probably pitied me and decided to let the monster have his way.

"And haven't you come here," I felt angry again. I was not a charity case. He did not face me, and that only angered me further. I continued, "in pursuit of your deepest urge. Have you not found it in her?"

This time he did look at me. Again he looked at me straight in the eyes with that open expression. There were no walls. There were no pretenses in his look. He was trying so hard to convince me that I swear I could not stand to remain angry with him.

He looked at me calmly, "I do not love her. No second thoughts, I have decided."

I looked at him, searching again for the truth in his statements. It seemed as though there was nothing he could hide from me. I was the first to turn away. I looked at the stage lost in thought. He was not lying. This was not some whimsical decision. He was really going to give up on Christine and let me have her – if she would even accept me.

He continued to explain, "I think she loves you anyway. However, she was once my closest friend and I wish her no harm. So treat her well."

I doubted that she loved me. She probably just loved what I stood for, success, danger, passion. Wait… did he just threaten me?

I looked at him with disdain and disbelief. He did not actually think he could threaten me, did he? He had not said it so seriously, but I knew he meant it. I was a little angry, but it was losing out again to amusement. It seemed absurd that he had just done that. I turned my attention back onto the stage.

I had her. I had Christine and there was no more competition. For some reason, I was saddened by the thought. At least when there had been a rivalry, I had been busy. It had been the most excitement I had had in a long time.

Now though, Raoul was no longer to be my rival. What was he then? What reason would I now have to watch him if he was no longer a threat? I still undoubtedly wanted to learn more about him. It seemed like I was truly obsessed with him. But with his interest in Christine gone, what reason was there for him to visit the opera house so much? I would not see him as much. Everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be. As though he was really just a normal patron.

"So the games we've played till now are at an end," I stated detachedly.

I furtively watched his expression. He seemed sad when I said this. Maybe not though, I could not see his eyes clearly. Maybe he was relieved. I could still kill him, but now I did not have an outright reason to do so. I had no reason to confront him at all.

"Yes. It's over. She's not who I wanted," he said, then appended, "She's not who I thought she was."

I could agree with that sentiment all too well.

He mumbled quietly to himself that I almost missed it, "I'm not who she thinks I am either."

It was eerie how much we thought alike.

This was victory. He had given up all claim and was defeated. However, I should not feel so lost. I should feel relieved that I no longer had a rival. I should be joyous that I can go after Christine only having to worry about her fans who were easily scared away. The only real competition I had had was Raoul, and now that he had conceded, I was free. But was I really? Was freedom where I thought it would be? It had to be. It had to be with Christine. She had to be the one that would understand me. We would go away and live somewhere where we'd never be bothered. We would get married…

"You are still engaged though," I brought to his attention.

"I had thought to do it soon."

I rolled my eyes. He was being a baby. I no longer feared that he was in love with her. I was certain that he was not. He had not lied to me. He just did not want to have to face her when he broke off the engagement. He was being a wimp.

"Soon indeed," I replied suspiciously. I had a feeling he would wait until the last moment to do it. He would keep putting it off saying it was not the right time. He had confronted me. Facing Christine should not be so difficult. Maybe it would be because a woman scorned…

I turned to face him. I would give him some incentive. Looking him directly in the eyes, I stated, "I will be lenient with you. You have until the masquerade to break up the engagement. That is one month. If you do not, I will kill you," I paused to see if he was following, "very slowly."

He nodded his head. I had scared him enough. Maybe he would find the courage to do it soon.

So that was it. This was the end of the conversation. Except… I found myself not wanting it to be.

I did not want him to leave and wondered if he would be going now that everything was settled.

"How did you know about the masquerade?" he asked quickly.

I looked at him as though he was stupid. I finished giving him an ultimatum and the thing he focused on was the masquerade?

He held his hands up in defense. "I understand completely. I heard everything you said. Masquerade. Kill me." he was babbling and I could not help but be amused. "Slowly."

I looked at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to get out of this conversation now. Sure, _I_ did not want this conversation to end, but I did not see a reason why Raoul would want to stay. It seemed like a random question to ask.

He shrugged, "I just wanted to know."

"This is my opera house," I said challengingly, "I know everything that goes on in it."

He nodded. This was awkward. I wanted him to stay, but what could I possibly say to make him. I did not actually want to have to say anything at all really. This was a situation I had never been placed in. We no longer had any business with each other, so what we were doing right now was really just socializing. I had never socialized with anyone in my life. What was there to talk about? Would we be making small talk like the Vicomte had tried to do in the beginning?

I did not want to talk about the weather or current events. It was annoying and unnecessary. Maybe I should just leave.

"You aren't," he began quickly, "going to kill me now, are you?"

I scoffed at him. It was better than current events, that was for sure. Maybe staying would not be such a bad idea. The conversation at least was interesting. There was no one to talk to in my home anyway. Curiosity getting to me, I responded, "Does it look like I'm going to kill you?"

"Should I know what that's supposed to look like?" He quipped back.

I hid my amusement, but it was getting harder to. This felt good. It felt almost natural, as though we had never been rivals. I looked him but he would not return my gaze. I wanted to see what he was thinking, and that would be hard without looking at his eyes.

"You'll know," I responded, hoping to see some reaction.

What I did see was surprising. I swore that Raoul was just full of contradictory responses. He had simply smiled my response away. He looked completely at ease around me. We had just been enemies, and now he was lounging in the chair watching the stage with me.

Conversationally, he dared to ask, "Can I see your face?"

I was taken aback, but immediately responded, "Can I see your back?"

He looked at me in shock. It was the proper response. It would quid pro quo. He wanted to see what I was hiding and I wanted to see what he was hiding. I had kept my curiosity at bay, but if he wanted to see me, I would want something in return.

"No," he replied vehemently. I figured.

I tilted my head and gazed at him lazily, "Then no."

I liked this. We were sitting side by side and sharing banter. At least Raoul had some wit to him.

I saw the smile slowly forming. I watched in fascination as he smiled with no sadness and no pain. It was beautiful. I wanted to draw it. I wanted to save this moment because I did not think I would ever be able to catch something so brilliant. Then he just started to laugh. I briefly thought he was laughing at me, but it was filled with no malice. He was simply laughing, and I caught myself smiling. His laugh was contagious, and it only took much of my self control to contain my own laughter. It was like music.

Suddenly, like a damn, a wave of inspiration hit me. I could hear the music in my head, and I knew how I wanted to finish my opera. I stared at him in disbelief. He had been my inspiration.

"I…" he began to say something, but I heard someone yell out 'Vicomte.'

I quickly made my exit and watched from a dark corner as a messenger came running in.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Monsieur."

Raoul turned around to where I had just been looking worried, and I was a little touched. I was angrier at the messenger for interrupting us because I had not wanted that moment to end.

Raoul faced the messenger and I could see the mask fall into place. There was no amusement or joy in his face. His eyes were guarded and detached. He was the haughty Vicomte once again, "You have found me. Now, tell me what you want."

I really did not like the Vicomte, and I was disappointed that Raoul had to even play the role. It was distressing to see him act like that.

The messenger quickly nodded his head, "I was sent by the Comte to tell you…"

So Raoul's brother was in town? Maybe that was what had caused his mood earlier this morning. I had heard stories of the Comte. He was rather strict and treated Raoul well enough.

The Vicomte interrupted him, "There's no note or letter? How am I to believe you were actually sent by my brother?"

He asked him suspiciously.

I sat watching them in amusement. There was no real reason for him to question the messenger, but it was something I expected the Vicomte to do. It was obvious the man was out of breath and nervous to be inside the opera house in an area not well lit.

"There was no time. He says that you must come home immediately. He says it's urgent and it pertains to your mother's health."

After hearing this, I saw him freeze in his place. Something sounded wrong about the message. It seemed suspicious to me, but Raoul believed it completely. It was his mother's health, but I would know nothing about that. He nodded his thanks to him and sparing one glance around the mezzanine seating, he bolted out into the hallway.

I tried to ignore the happy feeling I got when he spared a glance back to the dark corners of the mezzanine seating, but I could not. I waited until I was sure no one would bother me, and then I walked out of my hiding place and sat in the seat I had just vacated. I took the blank sheet music and began writing the culmination of my opera.

The words flowed easily out and the music was clear in my head. I lost track of everything else.

o.o.o.o

End ch08

word count: 8,139

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

To make up for the fact that I did not post yesterday, I made this one extremely long! Hope you enjoy.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Who's the one in trouble here?

Warning(s): Physical abuse and blood.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: This one is full of action, less thoughts (well, less than usual). And, and chapter 10 will be different. :o)

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Again, sorry that last chapter was late. Sorry this one is lagging.

I do tend to ramble in the beginning of chapters… especially Erik's because you already know what happens from Raoul's chapter and it's surprisingly easy to just write whatever comes to my mind about Erik. It always feels like it isn't enough when I first get it down (I was actually surprised that I reached 8000 words, I guess I rambled a bit too much in that one).

I did not even think about the whole modern wording-ish… thanks for bringing it to my attention (Kytten), and I'll work on it more.

As for Erik being easily amused with Raoul… It sorta just worked out that way. I was trying to show that even though Erik is still keeping most of his pretenses up even to himself, he can't stop Raoul from penetrating some of those shields. Amusement seemed like a good thing because it's not the amusement of psycho-Erik, but just the amusement without so much cynicism involved.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 09

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

"There was no time. He says that you must come home immediately. He says it's urgent and it pertains to your mother's health."

Hearing this I froze. My mother's health? This had to be something big. I nodded my thanks to him and sparing one glance around the mezzanine seating, I bolted out into the hallway.

Something was wrong, and I could feel my adrenaline pumping. What could have possibly happened to my mother? I had barely been gone a few hours. And though I might be disappointed and angry with her, I did not want her to die.

I did not want anyone to get hurt anymore. Least of all the people I knew.

I rushed out of the opera house and headed home.

o.o.o

The ride home in the carriage seemed interminable.

A million different scenarios ran through my mind.

What if my mother had fallen deathly ill? What if she got injured somehow inside the house? What if she fell down the stairs? What if someone tried to rob the house and she had been unfortunate enough to be in the way?

It had to be horrible if Philippe had sent a messenger to get me. It had to be something big, and the worry that crept into my heart made me wonder why I had been so stubborn in acquiescing to her wishes when it had been something I wanted as well. Why had I been so horrible to my mother? Why had I tried to rebel against something I wanted too? I did not really want to marry Christine. I knew that completely now. Who cares if what I wanted agreed with what my mother wanted? It should not matter.

She only wanted what was best for me. She had always tried. She tried to be a good mother. She supported me as well as she could after father died. And though she had left me under Philippe's care, she knew nothing about what Philippe had been doing to me. I could forgive her. I had forgiven her. I just should have treated her better.

Now… now she could be dying. She could already be dead.

The thought made everything else fade away.

It made the fact that I would have to face Christine and tell her that the engagement was off – the worry, doubt, and uncertainty connected with it – fade. It made the last hour that had been an emotional rollercoaster ride with the phantom of the opera –filled with concessions, losses, victories, and truth – fade.

There was only this uncertainty. This fear that someone who had once been my only reprieve as a child but who was now so far from me was in danger of dying. What petty differences that had separated us seemed to disappear. Death seemed to do that to a person. It made priorities clearer.

Did it matter that this morning we had been fighting? Did it matter I had been so angry with her, so disappointed with her that I had momentarily wanted her to be gone?

Did it matter that she stopped being the mother I had loved the moment my father had died? Where there had once been stories, there were only orders. Where there had once been encouragement, there was only criticism. Where there had once been unconditional love, there was only anxiety.

Did it matter that my mother often voiced her disappointment of me? Everyday after my father's death had been a comparison to my brother. How I had failed everywhere that Philippe had succeeded. How even though I had succeeded in some areas, it was never enough. How _I_ would never be good enough.

Did it matter that she only saw the person she wanted me to be and the ways I failed to be that person? Did it matter she never saw who I had actually become? Did it matter she did not care if that person who I was even existed? Did I even matter?

No.

None of it mattered right now.

The only thing that mattered was that my mother might be dead. I cared enough for her well being. I cared enough because she was my mother. She was my mother and that was all that mattered.

The carriage finally pulled up to the front door. I jumped out before the driver had a chance to fully stop. Throwing back some money, I ran into the house.

"Philippe!"

My first impression was that it looked empty.

"Mother!" I yelled louder hoping that anyone would answer.

I moved through the foyer and peaked into the kitchen.

That was odd. There was absolutely no one around. Not even servants.

"Philippe!"

Maybe they had taken her to the hospital. Maybe it was that serious.

I quickly moved into the living room.

But why would he send me a message to come home? Shouldn't he have told me to go to the hospital or something?

"Mother!" My screams were becoming more desperate, but I was afraid. What could have happened?

I was certain that he had sent me the message to come home.

The house seemed completely empty though. Even my voice echoed in this vacant home.

I turned around to head upstairs but never fully made it around. My head whipped back as a fist connected with my jaw. My hair flew into my eyes and covered my face so I could not see my assailant. I stumbled backward trying to get my balance and crashed into the edge of one of our side tables. The corner had been sharp enough to stab me in the side. I dropped onto the floor accidentally pulling the doily down along with the porcelain lamp on top of me. It shattered spraying my whole body with the shards. It had cut me on my arms and face.

They stung, but I was more torn between holding my jaw and holding my side in pain because I was certain both were bleeding. Getting on my knees, I struggled to stand. I ignored the fact that I had placed my hands on the sharp porcelain shards. I needed to get up and away from whoever had attacked me. Spitting out the blood that had gathered in my mouth, I tried to stand up. I tentatively touched my side and felt the wetness forming.

What was that? _Who_ had just hit me?

I could not do it. I could not push myself up. My hands slipped on the marble floor because of the blood. I knew I was cowering, but I did not know when the next blow would land. He had only hit me once and my limbs already felt weak. Before I could turn around and see who my assailant was, a familiar voice spoke.

"Hello, dear brother," Philippe said sweetly.

I knew I should not have been shocked, but I was. My mind stopped working. Philippe had hit me. He had not hit me in many years. Of course, he had not been around me in a while.

The part that scared me the most was that he had hit me that hard in the face. Philippe had always avoided hitting me in the face because he did not want to make it obvious he was beating me. He had not wanted there to be any evidence of his actions. The fear I had felt for my mother turned into a panic that coiled low in my belly for myself. This did not bode well for me at all.

I gave up trying to stand and instead turned over to sit on the floor.

I held my side and backed away from Philippe in what I hoped was an inconspicuous manner. I was conscious of the shards that littered the floor so that I would not hurt my hands any further. I could already feel the pieces that had embedded themselves in my palms, but I did not want Philippe to realize it as well. He could only use that information to harm me further.

"I see you got my message," Philippe stated conversationally.

The fear increased. Philippe seemed to be enjoying this.

He stepped closer. This time I did not bother hiding the fact that I was moving away from him. In my hurry though, I forgot about the shards and more dug into my hands. I tried to hide the hiss that escaped my lips.

I tried to divert his attention, "Is mother okay?"

I cursed the unsteadiness of my voice. My side hurt and I was at a disadvantage. I could not show my weakness though.

"Of course she is well." Philippe walked closer and with his foot, pushed me rather roughly onto my back. I almost screamed as I landed on some of the shards. The scars on my back began to flare up in pain again. He shook his head silent in disapproval. "She went to visit a friend's house for the week. She was in good health and spirits when I told her I would set you straight."

I looked around hoping that someone would come.

"I gave the servants the week off as well."

It was getting harder for me to breathe. I had to get up and run away. It all had been a trap. Mother was fine. Everyone had been ordered to leave the estate so that Philippe could do whatever he wanted with me.

I regretted ever saying those words to him. I had not even said the words. I had only indirectly insulted him, but it had seemed to be enough to incur the totality of his wrath.

"_I know!" I raised my voice once again, fully yelling now. Philippe stopped talking and he looked a bit shocked. "I know I'm a Vicomte, Philippe. You are the Comte and I, the Vicomte de Chagny. I am also more than that."_

_Philippe looked as though to reply, but I cut him off before he could even begin._

"_You will not be the one to tell me who I am or am not, and more importantly, you will not tell me who I will marry. I am my own person and I have upheld my position as well as you have." I emphasized the last part, and even though I felt low to bring up his indiscretions, I had not been thinking reasonably when I had spoken. _

I knew he had been mad, infuriated really. It had been the first time that I had ever spoken back to him, and naturally he would not take it very well.

Now I actually feared for my own life. Now there was something to fear.

Philippe stepped harder increasing the pressure on my chest. I grabbed his foot and tried to push it off, but it would not budge. Trying only made the shards dig deeper into my hands and Philippe put more weight onto my chest. I struggled harder; the familiar panic was there again. The pressure on my back was horrible but the shards I was laying on added another layer to that panic. They were starting to break skin.

"You have not learned yet have you," Philippe crouched so that we were almost face to face.

"Philippe," I begged, "please. I didn't mean it."

He knew what I was talking about and still looked unconvinced. The amusement was gone from his face and he was staring at me with eyes filled with hatred.

I had not realized.

It was suddenly all too clear that it would not have mattered if he did believe I had not meant it. The words did not matter. The insolence did not matter. The blood he had spilt did not matter. The blood that we shared did not even matter.

I had not realized until just now that Philippe had actually hated me. I had thought… I had thought that he only had too much pressure placed upon him. I had thought that he would not have treated me as such if he had not been the Comte. I had thought that he had loved me.

He grabbed my hair forcefully and slammed it down against the marble floor. The pain was immense, and then there was nothingness.

o.o.o

I woke up slowly and painfully. In fact, I was not certain that I had woken at all. Everything was black. A pitch black darkness that was so much of how I was feeling, it felt as though I was trapped within my own mind.

I tried to yell for help, but nothing came out.

I reached down and touched my throat. It was so cold here that I was not sure if I was touching anything at all. I held my hands up to what I thought was in front of my eyes, but saw nothing. I squinted, but still nothing was clearer. In fact, I could not even feel my body. I did not think I had a body.

Even without it though, I could tell that it was cold. So cold.

What happened? Where was I?

It was so empty here. So dark.

I knew this place. It was hauntingly familiar.

I had been here many times. Times when I could not stand to be beaten, yet still had to remain conscious. Times when Philippe would not stop hurting me until I could look at him in the eye emotionlessly. I could separate myself then. I could separate my mind from my body and manage to look at him. Manage to face him. Those had been desperate times and I had had much practice in doing it.

I knew this darkness intimately. I had come here many times. I had no body in this place. I had no control here. I could come here, but I could never find a way out. There had always been some other event that had jerked me awake. There had been some light to pull me apart from this darkness that was a part of who I was. I _was_ this darkness. Not completely though.

This was what I feared the most. This part of myself. This isolation. Being trapped here. To have been abandoned and forgotten. There was only a shell left in the real world. It did not matter that I was not there to move or think. My body would move and think like it had been trained to do. It would be the perfect Vicomte that I could never really be.

Being trapped here had been worse than the beatings Philippe had given me. It was an odd balance. I would come here to escape the beatings, but I could not find a way out. I could not escape from it, and that was when I would start to panic. It was a double edged sword.

I had once associated the two as one, the beatings and this darkness. They were not though. I had discovered that once he had left. I had been trapped in this darkness for a week after I had moved here to Paris.

I was only supposed to be in charge of the Opera Populaire for the sake of the Chagny name. It was to be the first real task that I was going to have without Philippe watching over me. I had been excited. I knew I could be the patron well. I liked music well enough. I knew more than the basics. More importantly it was a chance to prove myself.

After Philippe had gone, my mother had been pressing me. She had been making appointments and meetings with everyone in the city. For our family's sake, I could not cancel any of them. I did not see the estate in the daytime the first three days. I was out in the early morning before daybreak and then came back in the evening. I was exhausted. By the third day, I was close to my breaking point. It was then that my mother decided to express her disappointment in the performance of my duties. It was then that I broke.

I found myself in this darkness. At first I felt relieved to be away from it all. I could finally relax. I could just let my body do what it was trained to do. Then I had wanted to leave. I wanted to come back and face what there was to face. I couldn't though. For a week, I was trapped in this darkness. Trapped inside my own mind. My body was doing everything better than I could have done myself. I should have been happy that I was finally able to meet my mother's standards, but I could not be. It was not me. I struggled against the darkness. I struggled with everything I had because although I could finally appease her, I wanted it to be myself who could do it. Just me. I could not be trapped here and let my life pass me by. It was _my_ life. My only chance at ever becoming who I wanted. I had to find a way out.

I could not though. I had been losing hope thinking I would forever be stuck in this darkness. It was only when my body finally shut down from the intense schedule was I able to escape.

Now, here I was stuck again.

What had happened this time? What could be bad enough to make me come here again?

I concentrated on trying to remember. I _had_ to remember what had happened. Something horrible _must_ have happened to me; usually I just blacked out after a long day. It was different from this darkness. I had not been here in a while. I thought I had been handling everything well.

I looked around me. Nothing. A body would be useless in this vacuum anyway. I concentrated harder. There had to be some clue.

This darkness was confusing me. I could never see what was happening in the real world while I was in here. I only found out after I was released. It was as if the knowledge was waiting for me. I usually could remember what caused me to come here though.

I had gone to the opera house earlier than normal. Running. I was hiding. Christine and I had talked. Talked about foolish dreams and empty promises. I had run from that as well. Hid again, but this time, I did not hide very well. I ran into the phantom.

Did he harm me? Did something happen with him?

He was a monster. Of course he had done something.

But that was not right. It did not make any sense to me. A part of me knew that he was a killer. It was the part that made me believe he should have been the one to push me far enough to come to this point. We had talked though. Civilly. I had enjoyed myself. He was no monster. He simply had a deformity. A porcelain mask… porcelain?

I raised my 'hands' again. There had been blood. My blood. Not at the opera house though. I had been home. Home.

Philippe had come home.

It had been Philippe who had done this.

He hated me.

Now, I was trapped here again. I wondered if Philippe would notice that I was not myself. I wondered if he knew what I did to get away from him. I wondered what he was doing to me. I wondered how long…

"AHH!" The scream was ripped from my throat and I was blinded by the light that suddenly assaulted my eyes. Pain flooded my senses. I could still feel the shards in my hands and the gash on my side. My head throbbed. In fact, my whole body ached, and it felt as though I had been beaten while unconscious. I _had_ been unconscious though. I did not know what had happened between the confrontations in the living room and now, so it must mean that I had been unconscious. I was relieved because if Philippe could pull me out of the darkness intentionally, I did not know if I would be able to survive.

I shut my eyes and tried to cover my face with my arms, but I could not move them. I was tied arms spread out and immobile. I tried to move my legs, but they too were tied. Tied against a cold concrete wall. I was only wearing my trousers and undershirt. It was cold once more, but this time the darkness was gone. There was light. It was bright, almost unbearably so.

Once my eyes adjusted, I realized that the light was actually nice. It was coming from a small window on the far wall. The sun was shining through it. It looked to be around afternoon.

What had taken me out of my darkness?

"I see you're awake," Philippe's voice seemed to echo in my head.

I turned my head to the side. It took so much effort. There he was though. My brother stood to the side with a knife in hand. It saw blood dripping from my wrist. It must have been the thing to wake me.

"It would cause such a scandal to discover a Vicomte had committed suicide."

The fear returned to me. My wrist had been slit. Nothing too deep. Just enough to hurt and to bleed. There was still a possibility that I would loose too much blood, but I knew Philippe would not want that to happen just yet.

"However, it would be less of a scandal than him marrying some chorus girl."

He moved closer to me, knife brushing lightly against my arm. It sent shivers through my body. My breath hitched.

"I could instead make it more believable," Philippe smiled manically. I had never seen him like this. I had never seen him look at me with such indifference. It was almost as though he was looking right through me. He seemed like a completely different person. I wondered if I had ever really seen him. "I could make this seem like a kidnapping. Someone trying to make money off of the poor defenseless Vicomte."

He dragged the knife just hard enough to draw blood, but not any deeper.

"Philippe," I managed to choke out. Fear was clouding my senses, "I'm your brother. Please."

I had to try. I knew he hated me, but I hoped he would somehow control himself. I feared for my life. Where was everyone? Where was anyone? Anyone who could save me.

"You are worthless," he said as though he was stating a fact.

I closed my eyes. He switched to the other arm.

"AHH!" The cut was deeper this time, much like my other arm. Like the cut that had drawn me from my darkness. It was higher this time though, on my bicep.

"You are nothing without this family." He stated squeezing my arm. His fingers were already slick with blood. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

I tried to force myself back to the darkness. It had to be better. I could not stand the pain.

"You are nothing without this name."

I had to get away, but every time I tried to concentrate, Philippe pressed a little harder on the knife. I was out of practice. It was like he could tell what I was trying to do. I hoped to God he did not realize. I did not want him to take away the only reprieve I had.

"You are nothing without your title."

Philippe ripped my shirt off.

"Remember that."

I shivered violently. I had closed my eyes to concentrate. Opening them, I wished I hadn't. There was blood all over Philippe's hands. My blood.

I felt lightheaded, but I was not sure if it was because of the sight of my own blood on Philippe's hands or because I had lost too much blood already. My head dropped of its own accord.

"Look at me." Philippe ordered, placing the knife under my chin.

I listened right away. I forced myself against the dizziness. He looked pleased when I did, and I suddenly wished I had not followed his order. He pushed my hair aside with the knife and cut my cheek in the process.

"Don't fall asleep again."

I nodded. He thought I had been falling asleep. I almost sighed in relief. At least he did not know what I had been trying to do.

He held the knife dangerously close to my stomach. "I'm leaving to go to the opera house. When I come back, if you're asleep you will regret it."

I nodded.

I believed him. He would harm me. I already regretted many things that had occurred this day. I should have realized that this was a trap. Philippe would never let anything happen to my mother. He was very protective of her. Me on the other hand, I was fair game. Much of my life had been that of the helpless prey. Unfortunately for me, Philippe was a predator that liked to play with his prey before killing them.

He looked appeased, but before he turned he dragged the blade slowly across my abdomen. I forced myself to not scream. I forced myself to look him in the eye. I remembered the lessons from my childhood. It was weakness to look away. I could not look away.

He smiled and walked away.

I watched him leave with relief.

He walked up a flight of stairs that I had failed to notice and left through a door. I heard it click shut and the lock slide in place.

I strained to hear if he would really leave. Sure enough a carriage drove away.

I held my breath and listened. Nothing. No one was here.

I strained against the ropes that Philippe had tied me with, but they did not even budge. It only served to chafe my wrists more. I pulled harder against them and tried to throw my body with it for some leverage, but nothing would give.

I had to get out of here. I had to escape before he came back.

I suddenly stopped my struggle as I realized that there was nowhere for me to go. Where would I go? Where would I escape to? There was no one I knew that my family did not know. There was no one alive actually who I knew who my family did not know about. I would have to run away. Run to where? How would I survive?

Philippe had been right. I was worthless. I was nothing without the family.

I let my head loll. It took too much energy to keep it up.

I was nothing.

I stared at the floor for a long time. The light that had filtered in through window was dimming and I wondered how long I had been stuck in self loathing. I still did not know where I was. I looked around: there was that window, the stairway out and a couple of shelves against the far wall. This wall was completely bare and nothing was close by that I could use to even try to escape. Where was I? I looked at the shelves and it all fell into place. I was in the wine cellar. Philippe had not taken me very far. He had only dragged me into our wine cellar. At least I was still at home. Maybe someone would come.

But Philippe had said that he had sent them all away. No one would be around.

Why was this happening? Everything had been looking up after my talk with the phantom. I had actually been optimistic. How naïve of me. How stupid of me.

The fear and anticipation of Philippe's return kept me awake, but even that faded as the cellar became darker. I felt my eyelids begin to droop. It's becoming harder to stay awake. I could only hope and pray that someone might find me.

I felt my exhaustion increase and told myself that I would just close my eyes for a little bit. I would not sleep. I would just rest my eyes.

o.o.o

I woke with a start. It had to be nighttime. It was dark but at least there was still some moonlight. Luckily Philippe had yet to show up. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I scolded myself for falling asleep, and even though I did, I still felt tired.

I wondered where Philippe was though it did not really matter as long as he came when I was awake. It was very late, and I was starting to get hungry. I had not eaten since this morning. And when I had been awake earlier, I had been too afraid and worried to even feel my hunger. But now my stomach growled loudly.

I waited expectantly. Philippe had to come down soon. He said he was coming. I had to stay awake.

Still a yawn broke its way through. I was tired. I was sore. I did not have much energy left.

I struggled to stay awake. I tried to concentrate on things I would do if Philippe came. I would tell him that I'd do anything for him to let me go. It probably was not only about insulting him. He also wanted me to break my engagement off with Christine. I would tell him I'd do it. I would ask him to let me go.

I shivered as the cold in the concrete walls seeped into my body.

Why wasn't there anyone to save me?

My head dropped onto my shoulder.

Why didn't anyone notice I was gone?

I could not stay awake. It was a losing battle. I finally succumbed to the darkness.

o.o.o

I woke again. Alone. I breathed out a sigh of relief. There was sun again and I could feel my body warming up even if just only a little. Philippe had yet to come. I had fallen asleep again. I had not meant to. In the night I had woken a few times and had tried to stay awake. I had been expecting Philippe. He had not come then. And still, nothing. I passed the whole day wondering where he was.

I listened to my stomach growl in hunger. I kept making mental inventories of what body parts were injured. At least the bleeding had stopped. I tried to keep time with the movement of the shadow from the window, but I kept falling asleep and losing track. I could never tell how long I had been asleep, whether it had been minutes or hours. Whenever I was awake though, I kept a constant watch on the door.

Still no one came.

I had absolutely no energy in me. I felt fatigued and all my wounds were starting to hurt more.

I was alone and trapped against the wall. I had defecated and urinated on myself. The cellar was beginning to stink, and still I could not move. I could not do anything to better my situation. I was thirsty. So very thirsty. The hunger had become a constant gnawing in my belly. I was weak. And though I slept, I felt more exhausted now than I had ever felt in my life.

Yet still I was expectant. Philippe had to come. He had to. I could not die like this.

It must have been the third or fourth day that the door to the cellar finally opened. It was nighttime, but I had woken immediately. My eyes strained to see who silhouetted figure in the doorway was.

"Ah," It was Philippe, "I had forgotten you were here."

I wanted to cry. It was so close to the surface, but I could not even force one tear out. I felt so desperate at the moment that I just wanted to let something out.

He strolled down the stairway, "I was just going to get a bottle of wine."

He walked to the far wall. He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. "My my brother. Could you not control yourself?"

I wanted to yell at him 'No, not for three days.' But I would not. I wanted my freedom. I wanted to get out of this cellar. I wanted to breathe fresh air and take a warm shower. I wanted to get warm.

He laughed at his own joke. He walked up to me and looked me over.

"I have been rather negligent, haven't I?"

I held my tongue and looked as pitiful as I could manage, as defenseless as he wanted me to be, and it scared me how easy it was to do so.

I did not see the fist coming. He punched me in my stomach and I would have doubled over had I not been tied to the wall.

"All your wounds have closed up. I have indeed been negligent."

I took another swing to my stomach. I coughed blood on him, and he looked at me in disgust. He grabbed me by the hair again and slammed my head against the wall. The room was spinning, but he had made certain this time that I would still be conscious.

"I may just let you go."

He punched my stomach. I did not know how much more of this I could take. I opened my mouth to beg with him, to tell him that I was going to break the engagement off with Christine when he punched me again.

"I may not."

The next one he landed on the face and he finally let go of my head. I did not have the energy to lift it. The wound on my side, the one that had only stopped bleeding yesterday opened again.

The only reason I was still standing was because of the ropes that held me up. I felt something cold on my wrist and I tried to pull away thinking that Philippe was going to cut me again. But no, the cold metal hung heavily on my wrist.

Philippe undid the ropes on my arms and watched as I fell to the floor. I had no energy to break my fall. I laid boneless on the floor at an awkward angle. It was a shackle on my right wrist. He laughed then kicked me. He undid the ropes on my legs and added a similar shackle to my right ankle. Both shackles had been connected to the wall.

I laid on the floor wondering what was next, and why there had been places for these shackles to attach to. It would just be my luck that my own cellar had these.

Philippe kicked me again to get my attention.

"Clean yourself up, you worthless excuse for a brother." He threw a rag and some clothes, and brought over a small bucket of water.

Water!

I was so thirsty that I did not think. I started to drink as much of the water as I could. I leaned forward and cupped water in my hands.

Without warning, my head was dunked into the bucket. I inadvertently took a deep breath of water in my surprise and started to gag. Philippe was holding me down and though I struggled to get up, the lack of food and sleep had made me weak. Finally, he pulled me out of the water. I coughed water up for what seemed like hours. Philippe simply watched.

Once I was quiet he said, "I don't want to repeat myself. I said clean yourself up."

He looked at me daring me to try to drink the water again. "Do you understand?" He asked.

I nodded, and he smacked me in the face.

"When I ask you a question, you respond." He held his hand up threateningly, "Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," I managed to croak out. Although I had managed to drink water, I had not spoken a word in over three days. It hurt to speak now.

"The response is 'yes, brother," he said. He was mocking me, but I could do nothing about it. At least I was off of the wall. He continued, "I have brought some water and food. Use this to clean yourself up and the mess you have made." He indicated my dirtied state.

"Yes, brother." I said. I had to make it out of this cellar alive. I had to.

He sat on the stairs and indicated that I should begin. He opened a bottle of wine and began to drink.

I looked at him uncertainly, but not wanting to anger him further, I began to clean myself up. He was not watching me particularly. I wondered what he was doing. I wanted to ask him, but was afraid that I would have my food taken away.

"You are worthless," he stated conversationally.

I tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

"You are nothing without this family."

I tried to ignore his words.

"You are nothing without this name."

Just ignore him.

I had been torn between cleaning the floor in my dirty clothes so that I could wash it away after and cleaning myself first so that the water was still clean.

"You are nothing without your title."

Ignore him even though his words hurt.

I opted to clean myself first. I undressed and cleaned every wound. At least he was letting me attend to it before it got infected. It stung but I hid the pain so that Philippe would not have a reason to hurt me further. I pulled out as many of the porcelain pieces on my hand and back that I could, but there were still some left over. When I was fully cleaned, I looked at the clean clothes Philippe had brought and the floor and wall I still had to clean. I had a feeling that Philippe would not be giving me any other clothing so I cleaned the floor naked.

I heard Philippe scoff, but he made no comment. I was finally clean – as clean as a bucket of water could get me, and I hated being in that filth. When I finally finished cleaning everything, including myself again though the water had been dirty, I looked to Philippe.

I realized that he had been sitting there only to mock and make sure I was going to use the water only to clean up the place. When he saw I was finished, he took the bucket away. I dressed up in the new clothes and watched as he climbed up the stairs and left me alone in the cellar again.

I watched the door expectantly. He would dump the water and return with the food he promised. Where was it? I had been obedient. I had done as he asked.

I watched the door for much longer than I would like to admit. He had left me alone again. How naïve. How stupid could I be?

I leaned against the wall and wondered if he really wanted me to die here.

It was a horrible way to die. The hunger pangs were back. I pressed against my side to slow the bleeding. My hands were cold, and I was shivering nonstop nowadays. This cellar never seemed to warm up enough. However, I was grateful for these clothes and the shackles. I looked around the room to see if there was anything I could reach. Maybe there would be a bottle of wine so I could drink or something metal so I could maybe break free, but there was nothing.

It seemed I still clung to the idea of being free. I still clung to the hope of setting myself free even though there was nowhere for me to go. I wondered how my mother was doing. She would be so appalled if she learned of this. I hoped she never found out because Philippe might turn on her. But she would be returning soon. What would Philippe do then? He would have to let me go. I only had a few more days to bear this. Only a few more days. I could do that.

I looked at my shackles. I tried to pull them off, but they were too tight. Trapped still.

I was chained like an animal.

My thoughts drifted to the phantom. I had heard rumors that he had been caged because of his deformity. They were simply stories, but I was desperate enough to hope he had been caged as well just so that I would not be experiencing this alone.

Just so that I would not be alone. It was a horrible thing to wish, but it offered some sort of comfort. We were similar, and he was the only person I could think of that might understand how I was feeling right now. I could hope that even my imagined opera ghost would be some consolation. I should not wish harm against someone else. There had been something there though. There had been some connection between us. Something that had given me hope.

I was really mad at myself that some part of me was wishing he would come and save me. It was a stupid idea. I really knew that it was. But there was no one else. There was no one else who could possibly save me. The only person out of Philippe's grasp was the phantom of the opera. He _had_ been the last person to see me.

Maybe, just maybe he would save me.

I slumped to the floor laughing at my stupidity. I let myself finally relax. Philippe had said nothing about staying awake, so I would try and sleep the next few days away.

Only a few more days. That was all.

I was really hungry though. Cold, too.

Maybe it would have been better if I had died. I looked around the cellar. Maybe I had died already. Maybe this was hell. Everything I had, everything I thought I could become was fading. Philippe was effectively killing me, not only physically but mentally as well.

I curled up into a ball and tried to conserve what body heat I had and fell into a fitful sleep.

o.o.o

The next time I awoke, the room felt hot yet still I was shivering. I was certain Philippe was around, but I was not sure. I could not think straight.

My body felt restless. It was uncomfortable. It felt as though I was burning up. Still my body felt so cold. This room was so cold. The shackles on my wrist and leg felt unbearably heavy.

I fell in and out of consciousness. Torn between dreams and reality, I did not know what was occurring around me. I was not sure whether my mind was playing tricks on me or not.

In defense, I shut down completely.

It was hard though. One moment I would think Philippe was talking to me, but his voice was so gentle. He was being so kind to me. I thought I felt him nursing me back to health. I would be lulled into a sense of safety.

The next time I awoke Philippe would be kicking me awake. The mantra he had been saying was ringing in my head…

"You are worthless."

He would be cutting me with that knife again.

"You are nothing without this family."

He would kick and scratch. He would pay special attention to my back.

"You are nothing without this name."

He avoided the face these times though. Just the body and the legs.

"You are nothing without your title."

I could feel the blood dripping out of my body. It was probably why I was not getting better.

It would alternate between the nice Philippe and the Philippe that I knew. I would see the normal Philippe more often. I would remember more of those meetings. It was only when I could barely stay conscious did the other one, the dream-Philippe would appear. How many days had it been though? How many days had I been stuck in this fevered haze?

The days and nights started to blend together and every time I woke, I was afraid of what Philippe would do next. When I was conscious, my whole body was in pain. I tried to remember what had happened last, but it was all a blur.

One event stuck out in my mind though. The nice Philippe had been feeding me soup.

"How are things with you and Christine?"

It had to have been a dream. Philippe would never call her Christine. It had been the 'chorus girl.' I mumbled something like 'perfect.' I was half delirious and the lies still came out of me.

"Why haven't you married yet?"

"There's this opera ghost," I replied. The soup was so good. It was warming up my body, and I hoped this fever would go away. Mother had to be back now. Wasn't anyone wondering where I was?

"Opera ghost?" Philippe prompted. I thought I heard the familiar impatience creep into his voice. But it was probably just my imagination, like the whole scenario was.

I continued, "The opera ghost terrorizes the opera house and he's been competing with me to get her." Though that conflict is over, I continued in my mind. Why was dream-Philippe asking all these questions? Why wasn't anyone saving me?

Was I back in bed? Was this all just a fevered dream? I fell asleep hoping dearly it was.

o.o.o

When I woke up, I was still in the cellar, but I was feeling better. I wondered how many days I had been sick. My head felt a little groggy, but I was better. My whole body still ached. I took mental inventory again. I had more wounds on my arms, legs, and torso. My face had not been touched since the first day though, so I was certain it had healed already.

I was glad I had gotten sick. In my fevered state, I could not remember how painful the beatings had been. I only remembered bits and pieces of those painful times.

I lay on the floor motionless though. I still felt weak.

The door opened, and Philippe walked in.

"I see you are well."

I struggled to sit up. I nodded, but seeing him frown, I immediately replied, "Yes, brother."

"Good."

With the knife in his hand he indicated he wanted me to stand. I forced my body to listen to me as I watched the knife come closer. I hated that knife.

"I have a proposition for you," he stood before me, "the masquerade is two days from now."

Two days from now! I had been stuck here for almost a month. Why hadn't anyone come?

"You are going to break your engagement with Christine. I want the ring you gave her as proof that you have done so or else I won't believe you." Philippe stated this all in a business-like manner.

"Yes, brother," I replied automatically.

He smiled. The charming smile he used whenever I saw him in public.

"I'm letting you go back to your room. Don't talk to anyone and not a word about this past month," Philippe threatened.

"Yes, brother," I intoned. My voice was dead. I wanted out. I wanted my bed, my clothes. I wanted warmth.

"Good," He leaned forward. I thought he was going to undo the shackle on my wrist instead he thrust the knife into my side. It took a moment to realize what had happened. For all the pain I was experiencing, it took a moment for my mind to register that Philippe had just stabbed me.

"What," I began, but Philippe pulled back and I doubled over in pain. He had stabbed me where the first wound on my side had been.

"Remember what I've been telling you, what you learned here."

Throwing the keys at me, he turned and walked away from me again.

I struggled to free myself and as quickly as I could make it to my room. The house was empty again. Philippe had probably planned it again. He had known he was freeing me and did not want anyone to see it.

I entered my room and locked the door behind me. It was a futile gesture, but I felt a little safer with it locked.

I had to clean the wound to make sure I didn't get sick again. I knew I had to get up and do it.

Instead, I leaned against the door as my legs gave out under me. I closed my eyes and wished it had all been a bad dream.

o.o.o.o

End ch09

word count: 7,986

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

I am so mean to Raoul. I swear he's my favorite character.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Inspiration has its price.

Warning(s): cursing, nothing much else really (surprisingly after the previous chapter)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: I am so mean to Raoul. I don't actually know why. He's just so damn easy to hurt. TT That was not done in vain though, there were some important plot points that I hoped you picked up on… (I'm not just making excuses for hurting Raoul).

If you didn't notice, I have problems with time… cuz if you think of it… it took 8 chapters for 1 morning, and I've just passed a whole month in 1 chapter or I mean 2 chapters. Weird.

A/N: A month. :o( Sorry this is so late in coming, but I was out of town for about a week at thanksgiving dealing with some issues. Since then I have not felt like writing at all. Literally, I cannot bring myself to do it. I have been avoiding my computer like it was the black plague. Though technically, I haven't felt like doing anything at all. I keep trying to finish this story though because it's all laid out and it should be easy, but the words just aren't coming. I'm trying though. I'm making more of an effort now too because I realize it's been forever, and I should give you guys some sort of holiday present, right? How about I try to finish this story?

So, I was re-reading the previous chapters to get back into the mindset of what I was trying to accomplish, but damn it's too long and my attention span is officially spent. I can't believe those chapters were so freaking long. So… if my writing and the tone seem a little off it's because different mindsets produce different results and I read up to chapter 3 and could not bring myself to read the others. I am quite long winded it seems. I need to stop giving so much exposition (though I think that _was_ the purpose of this fic) and give some more action (I'll try, but I _was_ originally trying to make it a lot more thoughts than actions… I don't know, now I'm torn and confused). Additionally, I had already written about half of this chapter so if there's an obvious tone change halfway in this story you at least know why.

I'll shut up now (bc writing A/N's is a way I avoid having to write the chapter).

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 10

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

"There was no time. He says that you must come home immediately. He says it's urgent and it pertains to your mother's health."

After hearing this, I saw him freeze in his place. Something sounded wrong about the message. It seemed suspicious to me, but Raoul believed it completely. It was his mother's health, but I would know nothing about that. He nodded his thanks to him and sparing one glance around the mezzanine seating, he bolted out into the hallway.

I tried to ignore the happy feeling I got when he spared a glance back to the dark corners of the mezzanine seating, but I could not. I waited until I was sure no one would bother me, and then I walked out of my hiding place and sat in the seat I had just vacated. I took the blank sheet music and began writing the culmination of my opera.

The words flowed easily out and the music was clear in my head. I lost track of everything else.

o.o.o

The notes and the words were all there ready and waiting to be written. Whatever had been blocking the flow of inspiration was gone. I had never felt so certain of my music in my life. Of course there had been songs I had played simply from my thoughts and emotions, but those were incomplete. They were subject to being changed. This was different. This was perfection. One misplaced note and the whole piece would lose its essence.

It was as if the song had always been there in my mind. The song had always been present and I was just discovering it right now. Nothing else mattered besides this work. Writing it, I even managed to mostly ignore Carlotta's entrance onto the stage. Even her loud voice and tone deaf attempt to sing could not bother me as it normally did. I was untouchable. This song made me feel invincible.

As the last note was written on the sheet, I knew I had to hear it aloud. I had to play it. I stood up to leave and finally spared a glance at the stage again. Everyone was present. The managers were avidly watching the scantily clad chorus girls warm up. Carlotta was complaining about something. Piangi was trying to appease her but was causing his own ruckus. Christine and Meg, like the other girls, were whispering to each other, not quite paying attention to their warm-ups but rather to their excitement. Madame Giry watched it all in disappointment. A single crack of her staff on the floor brought everyone to attention. For a moment it was silent, then Carlotta and Piangi began complaining again and the noise resumed.

I wondered how anything ever got done in this opera house. They did not need me to cause a commotion. They did fine all by themselves. It was only because of me that they got anything done. It seemed in the lack of my presence, they had gotten too relaxed. That would change of course. It would change in the masquerade. I could hardly wait.

I watched them disdainfully, but they faded. They did not matter. My words, my passion, my emotions took their place. I saw my opera. _I_ was on stage. I saw Don Juan Triumphant being performed. I saw Point of No Return being sung. It was perfect. It would be magnificent. It would awe them all.

I just knew Raoul would appreciate it. I wondered if he would recognize some of the words – words that had seemed integral to making the song what it was now.

Annoyed at myself, I stared down at the sheet music in my hands. I should not care what he thought of it. In fact, I did not care what he thought of it. I didn't. Christine on the other hand, would like it though. She had to. This was the bridge – the bridge to close the gap that was steadily widening between us.

I doubted if she would really understand it completely. Would she understand the words? Could she understand what they meant? What they really meant? Not just on the surface. The words were by no means subtle, but there was so much more to it. My desires were being laid bare; hers as well.

I was only starting to realize that I should be a little worried that the Vicomte's words had set the song into motion. His presence, not hers. His words, not hers. His voice, not hers. Were these desires his too? Were these thoughts, these feelings that had come through in the song not Christine's? Not hers, not for her?

This song was important though. It was _the _most important song of the opera, and it was not as though I could remove it because I was afraid of what it meant. Could I even understand what the words really meant? Did I want to?

I looked at the stage again. Christine was beautiful. Her voice had been tutored into an angel's voice. She had been born to be on stage. Everything that had happened in her life had brought her to this stage so that everyone would see her. All her trials and tribulations had become stepping stones to bring her to her glory. The Vicomte had been a part of it. I had been a part of it. Would we just be things of the past as well?

With spirits noticeably lower than before, I quickly made my way down to my home. I had an opera to finish. All these questions and thoughts could wait. Just like everything else, I would put them on hold until after I finished my opera. Then, and only then would I confront these thoughts.

I was suddenly glad that I had yet to finish Don Juan Triumphant.

Reaching my organ, I placed the sheet music down but found that I could barely keep my eyes open long enough for me to play. This last bout of insomnia was finally catching up with me. I struggled against my exhaustion. I worried that I would see them on the rooftop again. I hated that dream. I hated that feeling. I hated falling, but I was so tired. I wanted a good night's rest. Maybe even a good rest that lasted a couple of days.

It was only now that I felt the real exhaustion my body was experiencing. I did not know how I was still standing. My limbs felt heavy and my mind was slowing down.

I brought my hand up to my head. I did not feel hot, so at least I was not getting sick. I guessed that it really was just exhaustion.

Turning slowly towards my bed, I looked at it torn between listening to the side of me that hoped the dream would not come again and listening to the cynical side of me that said trying to sleep would only cause me to wake up twenty minutes later even more tired. Most of the time the cynical side would win over and I would stay away from the bed and force myself to continue working on my opera. The few times I had conceded to the former, my cynical side had a good laugh at my expense. I _had _felt more tired. I had felt like falling asleep for those five minutes had actually been worse than staying awake.

Something was different this time. That unnamable something that had taken away my inability to continue my opera surprisingly gave me enough optimism to drag myself onto the bed and let the darkness of fatigue take over.

o.o.o

I woke up slowly and disappointed that I had woken. Actually, I was not certain I had woken at all. Everything was black. A pitch black darkness that was so familiar to me I knew I should remember from where I knew it. It was hauntingly familiar.

It suddenly dawned on me that this darkness reminded me of my home when I allowed all the candles to go out. There was a major difference though. I could see in that darkness. I had become accustomed to it and could at least see shapes and figures. I had not seen this kind of darkness in a long time. This was similar to what I had known in the circus. There had been light there but thinking of that time, I could only see darkness. I could only feel darkness. Then I had come to the opera house that had been a physical equivalent of that time. I had risen above that though. I had lived in the darkness so long that I was comfortable in it. This was different though. It was cold. Colder than my home.

I could not see anything at all.

I reached up to rub my eyes, but it was so cold here that I was not sure if I was touching anything at all. I held my hands up to what I thought was in front of my eyes, but saw nothing. I squinted, but still nothing was clearer. In fact, I could not even feel my body. I did not think I had a body.

Even without it though, I could tell that it was cold. So cold.

What happened? Where was I?

It was so empty here. A deep hollowness that reminded me so much of how I constantly felt, it seemed as though I was trapped within my own mind.

It was odd to think that any place could be worse than my home. Yet this was. It was darker. It was colder. It was more isolating.

But I still knew this darkness intimately. I thought I had left it all behind. I thought a candle could banish the darkness. I thought a few moments in the light of day could banish the cold. I thought that placing myself amidst a group of strangers who did not stare, point, and gawk at me could banish the isolation. I thought that I was past these sorts of things. It would seem I was simply fooling myself.

This darkness was an all-consuming force that took everything I ever had. Things I thought could never be taken from me were gone in an instant: hope, dignity, pride. It grabbed my very soul and refused to release it from its clutches. This was despair. This was where I could lose myself. I had lost myself for a while here. Somehow I had managed to break free though. Christine had given me hope. She had cut through the darkness and given me hope. Were we now so hopeless that I was falling back into the darkness? This was insanity. It was everything dark and dangerous. This darkness was death.

This was what I feared the most. This was a part of me. This darkness. This isolation. These emotions and thoughts bombarded me. They were glimpses of emotions that I tried to rise above. Being trapped here. Dying like this. Living a life that was hardly a life at all.

I could not allow myself to succumb. I looked around desperately. Complete darkness. I struggled against the despair that was creeping into my heart. It was not hopeless.

"It's not hopeless!" I yelled though no sound came forth.

Suddenly, a single beam of light cut through the infinite darkness. The color was so radiant compared to the void. I moved toward it somehow. I forced myself to not look away though its brilliance was almost blinding. It looked so promising compared to the void.

I was moving closer. It was becoming brighter, and I could feel my spirits lifting.

Closer still. I could almost reach my hand out and touch it.

Would I see a hand, my hand? So close to it, I strained towards the light. I knew I had to reach it and everything would be okay. I had to reach the light.

It was the yellow of the sun. Yellow? Maybe not so much… maybe blonde?

The light suddenly exploded and blinded me. I brought my arms up to protect my eyes from the light. I realized that it was like on the rooftop before. The light had saved me. This was the same. Could I really escape this darkness?

Suddenly I stopped floating in that oblivion and felt my body on solid ground. I swayed a bit and reached out to steady myself. When I finally felt oriented I opened my eyes.

_That was odd. He wondered why he had suddenly felt dizzy._

_Shaking his head, he stared at his face in awe. Whenever he looked in the mirror, it was the same thing. He could not believe who looked back. He reached a hand up to slowly rub his now unmarred cheek. There was no deformity. He had not had one in a long time, but still he could not believe it. His face was perfect. Could fate really be this kind to him? This face never had to wear a mask. _

_No one stared in horror. They stared for other reasons now. Reasons that should have made him feel proud, but he could not bring himself to feel that. He could not bring himself to look at others without judging them. _

_Inevitably, whenever he saw anyone the thought would come unbidden, 'he would have paid to see a monster' or 'she would have screamed in fright.' In his mind, it was certain that everyone would have sent or joined a mob to kill him._

_It had been so many years that he had been accepted into mainstream society but he could not fully be a part of them. He had yet to become close to anyone. Still, it surprised him that no matter how much he wanted to be alone, people would crowd about him. He would be dismissive, but he could not be completely rude. He remembered what uncaring and thoughtless actions produced. He remembered the life on the receiving end of those actions all too well. However, people mistook what civility he showed everyone as an invitation to be around him. He often longed for the times when people had shunned him because the loneliness he felt now amongst the throng of people was worse. It was worse to be surrounded by people who knew nothing about you and did not really want to know you. _

_Still he searched. He desperately scoured the world for that one person. He had been searching for so long now that he felt lost. He felt as though it had all been in vain. He had promised though. He had sworn to find that one person who would understand him. That one person who would see past the surface and tell him that it was okay to be who he was. Was it so hard to ask? _

_He would go out again today. He would walk the streets ignoring the looks people gave him, ignoring the suggestive glances from the women, and the glares from the men. He would look for that certain face that he could never forget. He would search because he had to. He needed this one thing and it was all that mattered. That person was all that mattered._

_He wondered so often how much longer. Where was he?_

I woke up slowly. The question echoed in my mind. I could not quite remember though. Where was who?

Those thoughts were drifting farther and farther away. I tried to force my mind back to that last dream. It was already slipping away from me, but I knew it was important. There had been a feeling there I wanted to keep. I knew I had been desperately searching for someone. I was not me but at the same time was. I… I had been different. I had been someone else but not. It was confusing. What had it been?

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to grab the last tendrils of sleep. Maybe I could force myself back if I tried hard enough. The harder I tried, however, the more awake I became.

I finally gave up trying. If it was that important, then I would remember it. I knew that particular sentiment was a lie, but I did not want to dwell on that dream. There were other things that were more important, like how long had I been asleep?

I felt great. I was still a little tired, but just the normal amount of sleepiness after waking. The warmth of the bed was actually calling me back, but my mind was alert. I had slept well. I had not dreamt that falling dream. There had been some other dream, but it was okay. It had allowed me some hours of sleep.

I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was either very late or very early depending on the time of day. Better yet though was it even the same day as when the Vicomte and I had spoken?

I stood up slowly and stretched my limbs. I felt incredibly better. I could not believe that the insomnia had disappeared. I looked around my empty home. It was dark because most of the candles had already gone out, but since only the taller ones remained, it meant that approximately a day and a half had passed. I could not believe that I had slept so long.

My gaze fell upon some burnt out candles.

Darkness. There had been darkness in my dream. Not like this though. I had felt unnerved. This was home though. Why would I feel unnerved in this darkness?

I looked around the room again. Empty. Would it be ever anything but empty? I looked at the organ and turned away.

Although I felt as though I could now write without reservation, I still wanted to put off finishing the opera. It seemed that even though I could now finish it, I was still reluctant of what would happen when I did finish it. Of course I would find out once the masquerade came, but that was still a month away. I did not have to think about Raoul's or Christine's reaction. I did not have to think about what it all meant just yet.

I decided to go upstairs and visit the managers' office for news. Going upstairs, I realized that it was very late at night so the managers might not even be here. It amazed me though that I had slept for almost two whole days. I had never slept that much even without the insomnia. Nightmares were a common facet of my sleep. Truly, the only time my defenses were dropped was when I was unconscious and no matter how much I thought I had managed to suppress the darker times of my life, they always found a way to resurface at night. Sleep had always been simply a necessity, like eating.

I reached the managers' and was relieved. Luckily, they were still holed up in their office. I watched silently at their exchange. They were speaking about meaningless stuff about the masquerade and things that should not have even been their concern. I was about to leave when they finally said something that sounded interesting.

"I hope that the Vicomte will be back in Paris in time for the masquerade," Andre stated.

I wondered what he meant. 'Back in Paris?' Didn't the Vicomte just go home because of his mother?

I was conflicted. I thought the message had sounded suspicious. Was there foul play against the Vicomte or was the foul play all the Vicomte's doing?

It was absurd to be worried about my rival though. Because it did not matter what he had said, he was still my rival. Even if something had happened to him, it was to my benefit. An injured and absent Vicomte meant that I was free to pursue Christine without any competition. However, if what Raoul had said before was true, there already was no competition. We were not rivals. On the other hand, I could be wrong. I _was_ probably wrong. It had been stupid to trust the fop. I felt a surge of anger thinking that the Vicomte had simply run away to avoid his promise to me. It had all been an elaborate ruse. Maybe he _was_ going to elope with Christine. Maybe his words of breaking the engagement off were really lies. I thought I could read him, but he was an incredibly good liar. I should have remembered that he had fooled me before. If he had done it once, he could easily do it again.

Not to mention that it was also easier to just be mad at the Vicomte. It simplified matters. I knew that Raoul was one of the reasons I wanted to put off finishing the opera. I did not want to think about the many questions that his presence seemed to raise. Discrepancies on how rivals should act and on how enemies should think about one another had obviously arisen. They confused me. As though I was not confused enough as it were. I had been already wavering about my desires for Christine, but Raoul had grabbed my attention. I could not waver in my intentions. I could not waver from my goal. Christine was my everything and Raoul had been distracting me from her.

It was much easier to be mad at him.

Firmin waved off the statement with his hand replying, "Does it matter? The Comte has been here in his stead. If the Vicomte wants to go gallivanting off, it does not matter as long as we have their support."

The Comte? So the Comte was actually here? I wondered at this development. Raoul had seemed genuinely worried upon hearing that his mother had fallen ill. I had not heard any news on the Comte's arrival, but I had been behind on the current events lately since I had been working on my opera. So, the part about the brother having sent the note was apparently true. I had yet to hear of the mother's illness though. What did it mean? Surely, the managers would know that his mother was sick. Yet, they think he has simply left.

Andre considered his comment, "But he left in such a rush. We saw him just yesterday."

"Yes," Firmin agreed, "I know it was a bit odd, but seeing how the Comte came, it would be understandable for the Vicomte to take a break. He looked a bit ragged."

He _had_ looked a bit ragged. I had simply assumed it was the stress of having confronted me, but maybe it had been something more. It should have been obvious since I had seen him look despondent in Christine's room. It should have been obvious because he had slipped in his appearance not only in front of Christine, but in front of me as well. What if something had occurred?

This was confusing. I was supposed to be angry with him. Why was I worrying about him?

"It does appear as though the Comte has become a substitute," Andre continued, "for every role the Vicomte once held here at the opera."

Firmin laughed, understanding what Andre was alluding to, "Yes, these past two days he had seemed very interested in Miss Daae."

"Childhood friends?" Andre jokingly suggested.

Firmin nodded and replied sarcastically, "Of course, childhood friends."

I had heard enough. I had to find Christine. I had a bad feeling about this. Raoul had had a penchant for visiting at late hours, maybe his brother held the same affinity. Maybe I could catch a sight of what this Comte looked like. I prided myself in knowing what kind of character a person had from one look. Only one person had proven me wrong so far. I had mistaken Raoul's personality completely. Every assumption I had made of him seemed erroneous or based on an erroneous thought. I did not know him. It had only been what, two days ago that I discovered all this. I thought that I had started to really understand him once my illusion had been shattered. I thought he had dropped his pretenses. I had been wrong if Raoul had really left Paris.

Maybe one other person had fooled me. It was sad to admit that Christine was that other person. It was not so much because I had been wrong. Maybe fooling myself did not count though. I knew what she had been like. I knew what she had grown to. I had simply allowed the illusion to persist. It was because of my disillusionment that I started to waver in my desires.

I sped through the passageways towards Christine's room, but before reaching her room, I nearly passed her as she was walking through a hallway towards her own room. What had she been doing wandering the hallways? I noted the direction from which she had been walking and realized she must have come from the entrance of the opera house. The Comte.

I only momentarily paused wondering if I should follow Christine or try to catch up to the Comte. I ran towards the entrance of the opera house. I had a feeling I would want to see what the Comte looked like. If he looked anything like Raoul, Christine was sure to be interested. Reaching the entrance, I looked out just in time to see a rider on horseback leaving. I could see nothing of what he looked like unfortunately, thanks to the cloak, hat, and darkness of night.

What business did the Comte have with Christine? I wondered what he was planning, what _they_ were planning. Christine was not one to be duped, and I was beginning to suspect that neither was the Comte.

Annoyed, I considered going to watch Christine, but the urge to complete my opera had returned. I did not want to wonder why its return coincided with the irrational worry for Raoul.

Instead of thinking any more unnecessary thoughts, I made my way to the organ with a purpose. I settled down and began to write.

o.o.o

The days blurred together, but it was a different pattern from when I had initially started composing. I would add, revise, and play Don Juan Triumphant from morning to early evening. Not only was I also eating regularly, I found myself going to bed earlier. I did not leave my home to stalk the hallways in the dead of night. Instead, I would lie down and sleep. I would have the dream of darkness and a life without this deformity.

After the second time the dream had occurred, I knew that I had to remember it. The details eluded me though. I could remember glimpses of the darkness. Once again annoyed, I set to working on my opera. Early in the evening, I found my attention slipping towards my bed. Under the pretense that I was still tired from my insomnia, I convinced myself that sleep was all that I had needed. Going to bed, I had worried that the dream would not occur again, but it did. It did every night following. Furthermore, upon waking, I could remember more and more with each night that passed.

Oddly enough, the dream stayed the same. I could recreate it in my head after the first week. Still, in the dream I could control nothing. I could not change anything, not my thoughts, or my actions. What was worse was that no matter the length of sleep I had, the dream would not continue. It would always stop at the insufferable question.

Where was he?

I still did not know for whom I was searching, but I knew that the person searching in the dream was me. We shared the same face, more or less. We shared the same past. The person in the dream remembered my deformity. He remembered my past. We shared it. We shared the same thoughts. We shared the same desire. I woke up every morning wanting to find that person and knowing that it was not Christine. It was a disheartening way to wake every morning knowing that the only person I could hope to truly understand me _was not _Christine. It was obvious now that she was not who I was truly looking for, but I was not willing to let her go. She would learn to love me. She would learn to understand me. I could hope for that much at least. With these thoughts, I would work on my opera.

With only one more week left to the masquerade, I finished it finally. Don Juan Triumphant was complete. I was relieved and apprehensive at the same time. It was now that I could spend the time to contemplate everything that had occurred since I started writing it.

It was now that I could wonder what those two dreams really meant.

I think I could understand what the first one meant. It had served to shatter my illusions of Christine. That dream had been trying to tell me that Christine was not the person I really wanted her to be. The second dream only asserted that fact more. In the end, it did not matter though. It did not matter what those dreams really meant or what they had been trying to tell me. I did not have to think about them. I did not even want to. In the end, I would still choose Christine over loneliness. Christine was the only person left.

Having settled that, I wondered what I would do now. It was late in the afternoon, and I considered just going to sleep. I was not tired though. I did not recall ever being this slothful. Admittedly, it was the most rested I had felt in my entire life, but I would not admit I had been intentionally going to sleep just to have the dream. The terror I felt in the darkness was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing myself without the deformity.

Nowadays, I found myself staring at my face. I had taken more mirrors out from behind curtains and other furniture solely for this purpose. I could not help it. I could now picture myself without the deformity. My life then had seemed better. It was still empty however, and I would always scoff at myself when I remembered that I had wanted to go back to being ignored by society. The feeling was so earnest in my dream though that I could not dismiss the sentiment entirely. Maybe a person could be lonely in the light.

The thought inevitably brought me back to the Vicomte though. Not the Vicomte, but Raoul. Vicomte was a mask that I did not want to have to think about because the Vicomte was someone I despised. That role was my rival. He was the one that had initially taken Christine away from me. Raoul on the other hand was all honesty, wit and smiled as though we were never rivals. He smiled and joked with me as though I had never harmed him, as though I had not been wearing a mask.

Damn it.

Whoever the boy was, I was beginning to become annoyed. I could not think of him. In fact, I decided from that moment on I just would not.

That left me back at square one. I wondered what I was going to do for a week without having anything to do. I usually spent the time tutoring Christine and terrorizing the opera house. I could do neither at the moment however. I was supposed to be gone. Only one person had actually seen me since that night I killed Buquet. Raoul.

It had been Raoul.

I sighed. That had been wholly unintentional and the fastest that I had broken a resolution. Clearing my mind from that unnecessary train of thought, I tried again. It dawned on me that I had not gone above to the opera house since that first night. I decided that the best course of action to take would be to find some diversion upstairs. I could gather news of what had happened over the past few weeks I had been working.

The first place I head towards was Christine's room. It was a force of habit to check her room even though she might be elsewhere. Her room was the easiest place to access her. It was the easiest place to watch her unnoticed and so close.

Approaching her room, I heard giggling.

"Not so loud, Meg," Christine whispered. She looked around before giggling herself. They were seated on her bed conspiring together.

Meg pouted, "It's not fair, Christine. You're hogging all the de Chagny's."

I could not believe my ears. Either the Comte was making it obvious or Christine was. Wasn't she supposed to be engaged to Raoul? I ignored the resolution completely. Thoughts of the Vicomte were inevitable when thinking about Christine. Especially when his brother was encroaching on dangerous territory, mine.

"No I'm not," Christine pretended to look hurt, "he's just comforting me in Raoul's absence."

"That's a lie," Meg exclaimed. After Christine quieted her, she continued, "I saw you two kissing."

Christine had enough sense to at least blush.

I was ready to break the glass. Maybe Raoul had sent his brother to… to… to steal away his fiancé? It made no sense whatsoever, but this news was greatly disturbing. Christine was not making my life any easier, but when had she ever really made my life easier? She had made it worthwhile for some time, but not easier. Whenever she was involved, it seemed to make things only more complicated actually.

Meg looked at her suspiciously. "What about the promise ring the Vicomte had given you?"

Promise ring? I realized that Christine _really_ had not told her about the engagement. Who would believe that it was only a promise ring though? I wondered what Christine's response to that would be. Had Raoul come back and broken off the engagement while I was unaware? I hoped he had not lied to me. He only had a week left though, and it seemed as though he had not yet returned if Christine's comment meant anything.

Christine shrugged, "He had only given it to me as a gift. You know men. They don't know what appropriate gifts are."

I highly doubted Meg understood because even _I_ did not know a man who gave a ring without thinking about its implications.

Meg nodded anyway, "Can I see it?"

Christine considered a moment before standing up to rummage through her jewelry cabinet. It took her a few moments before she returned to the bed with the ring. I was still disappointed at seeing it. It only solidified the fact that Raoul had yet to break off the engagement. Unless he let Christine keep the ring? I doubted that possibility though. I was planning to stay longer to hear more information about the Comte, but they started to speak about jewelry and the different men that Meg could possibly be interested in. Leaving their conversation was best.

I was livid, but I did not know whether it was because of Christine or Raoul. I dreaded the fact that I was not mad at Raoul. Something was very wrong with the situation with him. With the news of his brother taking over, it did not make any sense. Then there was Christine's involvement with this new development that indicated there was definitely something more. Christine made no actions that did not improve her situation. She knew what she was doing.

I wandered the pathways through the opera house just walking. I checked on all the people within the building and nothing was amiss. The Comte was not around. I let my mind wander. I was disturbed and the anger was still simmering beneath the surface. At moments like this, I would usually find myself at my organ playing to release some of my emotions, but instead I found myself lying on the bed.

Fed up with trying to fight against this urge to revisit the dream, I allowed myself to drift off to sleep.

o.o.o

The week passed pitifully the same. I would wander restlessly around the opera house letting my mind similarly wander. I had not seen the Comte. He was quite elusive. I was certain he was avoiding me, but how would he even begin to know how to. It was frustrating, so I decided that patience was my only recourse. I did not want to leave my opera house to go their estate. It seemed unnecessary to me even though the thought recurred often as I wandered the hallways. I avoided my organ again. Something was wrong with me. Something was bothering me, but whatever it was, I had to ignore it. Tonight was the night.

Tonight was the final day in my ultimatum to Raoul. Tonight would be the night that determined everything that occurred from here on. Tonight was the masquerade. I left my costume out and headed upstairs to watch the guests enter. I could change into Red Death later. For now, I wanted to see if Raoul would finally make an appearance.

o.o.o.o

End ch10

word count: 6,049

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

It was very ironic to write this chapter because I ended up writing too much of what I was feeling into this (ahem, Erik not being able to touch his organ,  man that sounded dirty; but yeah) and though it's partially what I had planned to happen, I had not intended to put so much emphasis on it.

Could I use the word darkness any more times? sigh, I hope this was good. More action even though Erik is not doing much, right?

The promise ring concept is kind of modern, but Christine's not supposed to have told anyone and if you realized so many chapters ago, she said Meg suggested something to her. So Meg knew she had the ring, and therefore a lie had to be made.

Once again sorry for the delay. Thanks to whoever has been waiting. I promise I won't quit writing until I finish this.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Inspiration has its price.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: None that I can currently think of.

A/N: Thanks for all of the support. Special thanks to those really fast reviewers: whatevergirl, Sunde, luisadeza, PuppetofDreams, Mithril Maiden, xdark.flowerx. You guys made this chapter a little easier to write. Faster too apparently.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 11

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

"What," I began, but Philippe pulled back and I doubled over in pain. He had stabbed me where the first wound on my side had been.

"Remember what I've been telling you, what you learned here."

Throwing the keys at me, he turned and walked away from me again.

I struggled to free myself and as quickly as I could make it to my room. The house was empty again. Philippe had probably planned it again. He had known he was freeing me and did not want anyone to see it.

I entered my room and locked the door behind me. It was a futile gesture, but I felt a little safer with it locked.

I had to clean the wound to make sure I didn't get sick again. I knew I had to get up and do it.

Instead, I leaned against the door as my legs gave out under me. I closed my eyes and wished it had all been a bad dream.

o.o.o

I looked at myself in the mirror as I adjusted the costume that Philippe had left for me. I smiled grimly at the irony of being a prince when by all apparent means, I was the princess trapped in the castle.

The costume was not terribly uncomfortable, but I did not appreciate the open mocking Philippe was doing. Just as I remembered the fairy tales my mother once told, so too did he. He also knew how I never stopped believing in them. For a while, he would call me Prince Raoul mockingly whenever he beat me, but he had not done so in a long time, so I was confused as to what had triggered his renewed interest in it.

Philippe had not laid another finger on me since the day I was freed from the cellar. It was small consolation. He had left enough wounds for me to deal with that it did not matter if he ever touched me again. The scars would be enough to forever remind me of what cruelty he was capable.

When I had finally been able to stand up, I had taken a scalding hot bath to cleanse my body. It stung horribly so, but in a way, it was the best pain I had felt in a while. I wanted to get out of my skin. I felt dirty. I felt each wound all too well.

I managed to stop the bleeding from the last stab wound he gave me quite quickly. I was immensely grateful that Philippe had decided I would go to the masquerade because he intentionally did not stab me too deeply so I would be able to attend. I had not needed to do anything but clean and bandage it for it to begin to heal. Every time I moved my body though, I could feel it along with the other numerous wounds I had accrued in my time in the cellar. Scratches, bruises, and scars littered my body. Now, it was not only my back that I could not stand to put pressure on. I wanted no reminder of my time in the cellar, but I could not escape it.

A maid had left some food by the bed and I was left alone the whole day. Yesterday, I had only cleaned myself up and slept. The bed had been heaven sent. I had been stupid to ignore the small pleasures of life. I had missed my room. I had missed my clothes, water, food… I missed moments when Philippe was not on the forefront of my mind, when the cellar held no horrors for me. I missed feeling safe in my own home. I wanted to turn back time. Since I could not, I wanted to be anywhere but here, anyone but myself.

I was still here though. I was still trapped in my body.

I could not dwell on these thoughts too long though. I had to move on with my life. I had to work through the pain and act the part Philippe wanted of me tonight. I would live day to day while Philippe was at home. He was too unpredictable to make any plans for the future. They would only be destroyed.

My current goal was simply to survive the masquerade. I would make it through the night.

I smiled and was disappointed to see that I looked perfect. There was no conceit in that thought. My hair had gotten some of its luster back. It fell neatly to my shoulders. The bruises and wounds on my face had faded, so that my skin was once again smooth. The costume covered up every other part of my body so that none could tell what horrors actually lay beneath. The only thing I had to be cautious about was my hands. They were rough, calloused, and the scarring on them was obvious. It would be simple to hide them though. Everything would look as though I had simply left Paris for a vacation.

I was now physically clean, and with this smile firmly in place, all the mental scarring would be just as easily hidden. It would all fall into place so that I could act the perfect Vicomte and patron. It was all so wholly a lie that I did not know how two extremes of clean and dirty could coexist, as I was existing right now.

I feared what this night truly held for me. Philippe would be attending since in my absence, he had taken over my position as patron. If that were not enough to add stress, I knew that the phantom would also be watching me closely. Tonight was the last night to carry out my promise. I had not forgotten about our deal. I only realized that I should have been relieved that Philippe let me go when he did or else I might have had to face the wrath of another person. Philippe was already more than I could handle.

I felt embarrassed whenever I thought of the phantom actually. I had been foolish and weak wanting someone to save me. For some reason, my mind had latched onto him. It was probably because he _was_ the last person to see me, and the only person who actually had a real conversation with me. Logically thinking about it, had I been strong enough before to admit to the phantom that I was not a rival for Christine's affection, we could have been friends of some sort. Surely then, it would not be foolishness to expect him to come. I highly doubted that Philippe would win in a fight against the phantom. I mentally cheered the phantom on. Then again, had I admitted my doubts earlier, I would never have been in this position in the first place.

I adjusted the jacket off my shoulder. I was nervous. I wondered how Christine would handle the news. Not well, probably. She had seemed excited to become a Vicomtess. I wished I could say that she had been excited to become my wife, but I could not, at least not meaningfully.

_Love me. That's all I ask of you._

It was all I asked of her. I did not want her to turn her life upside down for me. I did not want her to stop singing. I did not want her to change anything about her. I just wanted her to love me. She could not. It was not her fault. I should have realized that we could not help with whom we fall in love. I did not love her either. It would have been unfair of me to ask her something I myself could not do.

I thought back to that morning in her room. It seemed so long ago. She had been talking to the mirror then. I placed my hand on the mirror I looked into. It was my own reflection, a reflection that I hated. I had become an entirely different person this past month, but there was no indication of it in my reflection. The person in the mirror was not me. It could not be. The person in the mirror seemed calm and collected. The person in the mirror looked confident and healthy. I was… I was none of those things.

I wondered if Christine thought of the phantom when she looked in a mirror or if she was truly just looking at her own reflection. Did she like what she saw? I did not. I wanted to break the mirror I was staring at. The urge to cause some damage was almost overwhelming, but I knew any damage to my room would be noticeable. I did not want Philippe to think anything was amiss.

I pulled my hand off the mirror and ran a hand through my hair to fix it when the door suddenly opened. I managed to control my fear enough not to back away. Only one person came into my room without knocking, and only one person had actually come to visit me since I had come up from the cellar. I stood my ground and offered a smile to Philippe when he entered. The smile was shaky at best, but so was every other part of me so it could not be helped.

Philippe smiled indulgently back at me. His smile was feral and only served to make me more nervous. I swallowed convulsively as he walked towards me. Picking at nonexistent fibers on my costume, I stared at his hands in fear that they may do more harm.

He spoke in an even voice, no emotion stronger than the other, "You will go to the masquerade and end your engagement," he grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed it painfully. "Look at me," he practically hissed.

I immediately obliged and replied, "Yes, brother."

He looked appeased. Scoffing, he continued, "You will retrieve the ring you gave her as proof of your obedience. Show it to me when I arrive."

I wondered what he meant. Were we not going in the same carriage? He was going, of that I was certain. Furthermore, if he was there, I knew he would be watching my every move. He would see me break my engagement.

He must have seen my confusion for he answered my unspoken question, "I have some business to attend to and am unsure of when I will make it to the gala. I expect you to have that ring before I arrive."

I nodded. I was only partially relieved that he would not be there. It was probably just another way to play with my mind. He did not tell me when he would arrive, so I would be constantly on edge. I would have to get that ring almost immediately, lest Philippe decide to arrive almost immediately just so that he had a reason to punish me. He found such sport in making me worry. He was also very good at doing so. I had yet to find the time to have a panic attack but it was hovering on the edges of my consciousness. The only thing that held it at bay was fear.

Hearing a knock on the door, Philippe finally released my neck.

"Comte, your carriage has arrived." A voice intoned from the hallway. He had not bothered to open the door. I believed that all the servants knew what Philippe was doing, but who were they to try to stop him. They would lose their jobs immediately. I felt bad for them that they had to deal with this situation. I knew I would be uncomfortable.

Philippe turned to leave. He stopped at the doorway however and my heart skipped a beat. He smiled easily, "Before I leave, I would like to hear your creed."

I looked him in the eyes, and let my mind go blank, "I am worthless." The words that had been the only constant during my time in the cellar. I could say this without meaning it. "I am nothing without this family." But it was getting harder every time. The words stuck in my mind. "I am nothing without this name." How could I not start to believe it? "I am nothing without my title." I _was_ nothing without this title. I was nothing without these roles. How could I be anything more?

My brother stared at me with cold, calculating eyes again.

I blinked deliberately, allowing myself one moment away from that gaze. It was only a second but upon meeting his eyes, the expression had changed. He stared at me with pure hatred. I was forcefully reminded that it was true. For all the reasons I could think of, I could not quite understand why.

He smiled, the mirth not quite reaching his eyes, "You should depart soon, or you'll miss the fireworks." He opened the door slightly, "Oh, and do something about that hair of yours before I cut it off."

Walking out, I stared at the door as he shut it close. I could not look away from that closed door. I was half expecting him to re-enter. The smile had never left his face and I could not suppress the shudder that ran through me at the unveiled threat. He had left my room, but my body did not relax until I heard the carriage leave. I could finally look away. I released the breath that I had not realized I had been holding.

Grabbing a ribbon, I headed out of my room. However, I doubled over at the door. Wincing at the pain in my side, I realized that I could not walk normally without hurting myself. Additionally, having been so tense in Philippe's presence had only exacerbated the injury. I was fairly certain that my bandage would hold though. I only needed my wound not to begin to bleed again, and I would be fine. I slipped my hand underneath my shirt to probe the wound gently. It stung, but I was relieved to have confirmed that it had not reopened. I was thankful it because I did not want to worry about blood seeping through the bandage. It was enough that it hurt. I did not want to have to explain to some observant person why blood was seeping through my costume.

It hurt to even breathe, but like going to this masquerade, it was something I could not avoid. I was beginning to want it all to end. It seemed pointless to go on living if this was what I was confined to. I was worthless as it was, and the creed that Philippe had ingrained into my mind was entirely true. Maybe I should just let my mother and brother dictate how I should act. I should just become the perfect Vicomte. I should become the person that they expected. I shook my head viciously at those thoughts. I would choose death over becoming some pawn. I had to remember that. No matter what was said, I did not want to become some pawn.

However, that was where I was confused. I was already listening to everything that Philippe was telling me to do. My attempt at rebellion had been thwarted easily. I was a dog saying 'Yes, brother' whenever Philippe wanted. So, shouldn't I seek death instead?

However, hadn't I thought before that if I were to lose my titles, I would die? Life as I knew it would cease to exist and I essentially would be dead. So, shouldn't I feel the most alive I have ever felt? I had my title. I knew exactly what role I should play. I was to play the obedient brother and loving son. I was to play the proper Vicomte and a successful patron…

…except it felt like I had already died. In that cellar, I had been stripped of everything I was only to be rebuilt in a manner that Philippe saw fit. I had already died, and here I was with thoughts that were remnants of a previous life. I just did not know what to do anymore.

The answer came almost immediately. I did not know what part of me supplied it, but the answer was clear. Live day to day. I had to just move forward. I had to get through this night. That was all I had to think about.

Opening the door, I was startled when I almost ran into my mother as she was passing through the hallway. When I saw her this morning, the relief that Philippe really had not done any harm to her was immense. It had been the first time out of my room, and only because my brother had insisted I have breakfast with the family. We had not shared words beside those necessary, but she seemed to be in better spirits. I could tolerate her more, but she was making it easier. I had woken without her yelling at me this morning and she had yet to mention anything about Christine. Philippe must have told her everything had been fixed for she seemed to accept my presence tolerably as well.

I was glad. I had not meant to make her worry. I remembered my fears when I thought she had fallen ill. I had to remember that because of my own stubbornness I could have avoided this whole fiasco. It was not her fault at all, just my own. I smiled at her, honestly showing my joy. She tentatively returned the smile and was surprised when I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

"Have a good evening. I'm off to the Opera Populaire," I reminded her.

She nodded and continued to her room. I strode evenly until I was out of sight. I did not want her thinking something was wrong with me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I controlled my breathing as my side throbbed. The pain was almost too intense to move. It was making me weak. I was certain that Philippe would know if I was tardy to the opera house though. I could relax in the carriage. It was the only incentive that made my body move.

Once I was inside the carriage, I leaned forward gasping painfully. Breathe in and out. In and out. It hurt less in this position. I lost myself to controlling my breathing and the constant mantra that I could get through this night.

When I realized that we were close to arriving at the opera house, I tentatively sat back and pulled my hair back to tie the ribbon. Luckily, by the time we stopped, I had composed myself. I would be dealing with pain the whole night. I could not let myself be weak so soon.

In the back of my mind, I noticed the fireworks. I did not have the time to think about it though. I had a goal – a goal I could not diverge from.

Entering the building, I grew more nervous with each step I took. The month I had spent in isolation had affected me more than I had thought. So many people around me and bumping into me made me paranoid. The only touch I had received had been one to deliver some sort of pain, and my mind could not understand anything else. I was jumpy, but I tried to hide it. I hid it behind a smile and by trying to have some buffer in personal space. The further I went in though, the less space there was at all. The panic attack that had been held at bay was threatening to break free.

I made my way to an empty alcove to gather my wits. Deep breaths. If I could ignore the pain, I could ignore my nerves. I just needed a moment. I was glad that no one important had yet to notice me though. I watched as a spectator as everyone celebrated.

The managers had some ballet dancers by their sides, so they were exuberant. Piangi and Carlotta fit right in with the loud music and boisterous crowd. Even Madame Giry appeared to be enjoying herself. Everyone was lost in their drunkenness and joy.

I wondered why I could not have just a piece of their happiness. Was it so horrible of me to expect that much?

I looked at the people laughing and acting like fools behind their masks. Those masks for them were an escape. They had less restraint when they wore those masks. Would they ever realize that a mask was more of a chain than any physical manacle? I doubted it. It was something that one realizes all too late. I needed no more masks, so I wore none tonight.

I jumped slightly when a hand grasped my bicep.

"Raoul," Christine smiled at me.

I could not tell if she was really happy to see me or if this was a conditioned response for her. I was supposed to be her fiancé, so this was the way she was supposed to react to my presence.

I used to find the least bit of solace in her attention but I could not bear to even look at her without feeling pain. It hurt to see her. It was unfair but I knew part of me blamed this whole situation on her. All the pain I had to endure was all because of this one girl. A girl I would not fight for. A girl I did not love. A girl who probably did not love me. As my own conditioned response, I smiled at her anyway.

"You've been away for so long, love." Christine pouted.

I gritted my teeth at the endearment. It was not her fault. I had not liked her calling me that a month ago, and now it felt as though she was trying to find a way to make Philippe be angry at me more. If he heard her call me love, he would surely punish me. He would punish me for even allowing her to think that it was alright for her to love me. I should have made it clear that she was below my status and therefore there would be no love between us. It was all my fault. If I had been stronger, I never would have endured this. I opened my mouth about to tell her.

She cut me off by pulling me towards the crowd. I almost cried out as she stretched my arm out further than was comfortable. My wound screamed in protest and I was about to voice the same malcontent.

"Christine," I choked out. She slowed her pace and finally stopped to turn around and face me.

"Look," she held out the ring, which had been placed on a chain and hung around her neck. "Think of it. A secret engagement." Did she have to look so enthusiastic about it? A secret engagement was embarrassing in itself. An engagement was something special. It was something that should have been spread. It also made breaking the engagement off a little easier for me. "Look, your future bride. Just think of it."

"Christine," I said urgently trying to get her attention. I could not let her go on. "Stop."

She looked at me oddly. I could not place what she was thinking, but then she tried to drag me again and I did not have time to think about it. "Let's dance," she suggested.

She was causing me so much unnecessary pain right now. Thoughts about hurting her were flashing in my mind, but I would hurt her emotionally soon enough that I could stifle the urge. I shook my head and stood my ground resolutely. "I need to talk to you."

She finally released my arm, seeing my serious expression. I did not know how to start. I knew I should try to let her down easy, but I did not think there was any other way. I glanced towards the entrance of the opera house. Philippe could arrive any moment. I did not have time to be kind, and considering how much pain I was in at the moment, I did not want to be kind. I blurted out, "The engagement is off. I can't marry you. I don't want to."

Three little sentences. She actually looked genuinely surprised. I thought to myself, 'That's the first real emotion I've ever seen on her.' I did not know if it was true, but the thought just came to me. I knew I did not need to add that last sentence, but I wanted to make it clear that it was my decision as well.

She turned around ready to storm away when I realized she was already leaving. I grabbed her arm. I did not have much strength in me as most of my energy was spent trying to just stay on my feet, but she stopped. She looked angrily at me though. There were tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, but she was clearly furious with me. More hatred. It appeared that it was simply my lot in life.

"What?" she spat.

I felt insensitive doing so, but I held out my hand, "I would like the ring back please."

She reached up to hold the ring and I thought she would return it without argument. Instead, my head whipped to the right as she slapped me as hard as she could manage before storming away. I stumbled but caught myself. I flexed my jaw and could feel my cheek heat up. Wondering if anyone saw, I looked around, but no one seemed to be paying special attention to me.

I searched the crowd desperately for any sign of Christine, but she had disappeared. I needed that ring. I felt too weak to move, but I forced myself forward. Fear for my life was a good motivator.

I had searched for her for more than an hour and still I did not catch one glimpse. My legs were heavy and my side throbbed in beat with my heart. Even through the pain, I smiled and stood as straight as I could manage. Appearances were everything and I had already run into the managers. Andre had unknowingly slapped me on the back at a funny comment he had made himself. I winced, but he did not make a comment. I knew at least that Andre did not notice anything amiss with me. On the other hand, Firmin was more observant of the two. I was certain that he was too drunk to notice anything though. It was a relief because if anyone asked any questions, I feared that Philippe would hear of it. He told me to keep this a secret, and no force on earth could coerce the words from my mouth. Philippe was too intent on making my life miserable for me to give him any more reasons than the ones he fabricated.

This search was expending too much of my energy though. I just wanted to take the ring and leave, but even if I did obtain the ring, Philippe would expect me to still be here. Desperation and fear clung to my very soul. I needed that ring before Philippe arrived. So much time had already passed.

I was about ready to resign myself to whatever punishment Philippe would mete out. I was ready to die in fact when I suddenly spotted her dancing near the stair well. She was smiling and any sign of tears was gone from her eyes. I wanted to scream in frustration. She was either a good actress or she had never really cared about me. Actually, that meant she was a good actress either way. I briefly thought about revenge, but I could not bring myself to fully hate her. I would be like Philippe if I hated someone, and in essence, she had only been using me like I had wanted to use her. How could I be angry with her?

Seeing her partner and her stop dancing to watch the performance, I pushed my body forward. One last exertion. This was it. I would get the ring in this attempt. I would not talk to her. I would just grab the ring and be done with this episode of my life.

As I was about to reach her, the lights blew out and it seemed as though time stopped. Everyone turned to watch as Red Death, the devil himself, walked down the stairs.

I cursed my luck and stopped moving myself. It would do no good trying to get to her now that everyone had stopped watching the show. My movement towards her would only cause me to stand out. I needed a weapon. Leaving the room as subtly as I could, I returned with a sword only to see the phantom and Christine just staring at each other. I wondered if he was going to kiss her. The thought made me frown, but I brushed it aside for the sake of concentrating. This was not a time to be letting my thoughts drift. I had one goal for the night, and that was to retrieve the ring from Christine. I had not thought she would make it so difficult.

I saw the sheet music thrown on the floor and seeing the looks on the managers', Piangi's, and Carlotta's faces, he had probably made some more demands. Everyone's eyes were transfixed on the pair. I too paused, as the tension seemed to suffocate me. I swayed unsteadily. I thought I saw the focus of the phantom's eyes dart over towards my direction, but it must have been my imagination. I was certain he would not harm Christine. Everything he had done was to keep her away from me, and in a way, he was just protecting her. I decided that I would only interfere if it seemed necessary. I did not want to give him the idea that I had not broken off the engagement. I wondered if he knew already.

I had to strain to hear the harsh whisper, as the phantom leaned forward, "Your chains are still mine. You belong to me."

It was not the words that surprised me. Rather, his next action stopped my heart completely. He grabbed the ring on her neck and yanked it off. I wanted to scream at him to stop, but he escaped in an explosion of smoke through a trap door in the floor. I moved before I could think of the consequences. I had to have that ring. I pushed my body forward and gave chase.

Then I was falling. Hitting the ground, I managed to stay on my feet even though my legs were threatening to buckle. I unsteadily looked around. Mirrors. It had to be mirrors. I held my sword at ready even though I was certain my arms would not be able to handle any strike, much less one from the phantom of the opera.

"Phantom," I attempted, but I received no response.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow. I turned but nothing was there.

"I need to talk to you."

He was playing with me. Just like Philippe, but the thought did not settle well with me. The phantom could not been like Philippe. I did not think that the world could survive with two people like Philippe. I knew I could not. I open my mouth again, but suddenly he was appearing everywhere. The constant turning to catch just the barest sight of him was making me dizzy, but I needed to stop him. A part of me knows that he's nowhere I could possibly reach him. This was a losing battle. Not only did I feel too weak to continue this game, but I was also in one of his traps.

I turned when I heard what sounded like Madame Giry's voice, but when I did, a knee swung into my abdomen. My mouth opened in a silent scream. I was in too much pain and shock for anything to come out. Doubled over, something hard connected to the back of my head. I dropped to the floor already feeling the headache forming.

I tried to cling onto consciousness, but it was too hard. It was too painful. I was too weak. The last thought I had before blacking out was, 'Please, not again.'

o.o.o.o

End ch11

word count: 5,249

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Hey, I was out of the circuit for a while, and I did not think it had been that long but I just saw 'w/e'… I feel like an idiot, but what does that stand for?


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Inspiration has its price.

Warning(s): cursing (I usually only put cursing here because I in an A/N might just accidentally curse… I don't think there's any cursing in the story though), violence (there is definitely violence though)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note:

A/N: LOL… hmm, I don't know why I thought that w/e would be something else. Thanks for responding though.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 12

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

The week passed pitifully the same. I would wander restlessly around the opera house letting my mind similarly wander. I had not seen the Comte. He was quite elusive. I was certain he was avoiding me, but how would he even begin to know how to. It was frustrating, so I decided that patience was my only recourse. I did not want to leave my opera house to go their estate. It seemed unnecessary to me even though the thought recurred often as I wandered the hallways. I avoided my organ again. Something was wrong with me. Something was bothering me, but whatever it was, I had to ignore it. Tonight was the night.

Tonight was the final day in my ultimatum to Raoul. Tonight would be the night that determined everything that occurred from here on. Tonight was the masquerade. I left my costume out and headed upstairs to watch the guests enter. I could change into Red Death later. For now, I wanted to see if Raoul would finally make an appearance.

o.o.o

I quickly straightened my suit and adjusted the full mask I was wearing. I had decided that I wanted to be able to mingle. I did not actually want to, but I wanted the option. Moreover, if I wanted to talk to Raoul, I could not just kidnap him so would have to be unrecognizable to everyone else lest someone recognize me. I would not want to ruin the masquerade too early.

Thinking about it, maybe I could just kidnap Raoul. A masquerade was filled with people and had much activity. Surely, the managers would not miss the Vicomte for a short period of time. I considered it as I made my way up.

Of course, the first place I headed towards was Christine's room. I wanted to see what she was doing. I visited her now to remember what my goal was. She was my goal. I could not lose sight of that. I already knew that I would for at least once this night, especially since the Vicomte was here. I would forget my goal was Christine and focus on the Vicomte. Tonight's attention to him was necessary though. I had to make sure he would break his engagement so that I had an easier path to Christine. It was all for her.

When I arrived, she was standing in front of the full-length mirror, my passageway, looking at herself and fiddling with her hair. She looked beautiful in her dress, but then again, she looked beautiful in almost anything. I had to admit that Christine had always been pretty. It was one constant about her. It was what lay behind her beauty that was mercurial.

She made a face as though something had just occurred to her. She left the mirror only to return with a necklace. I wondered why she had to put it on in front of this mirror. She usually only used this one to look at herself in a dress. There was a mirror where her jewelry was held; it only made sense to put it on there. She finally clasped the necklace and I realized why she had come here to put on it.

It was _the_ ring. It was her engagement ring. It was the ring that determined what the future held. As long as it was in her hands, she would forever make both the Vicomte and me unsure of our future. She would use us as she saw fit because she knew what it meant to both of us. She had already been playing the Vicomte. The boy had thought that he loved her. At least he redeemed himself. He had come to his senses after seeing his folly. She had been playing me as well. I had thought I loved her once. I was no longer sure, but what I felt for her was as strong as love. If it was not love, then I could learn to love her, just as she could learn to love me. There would be no redemption for me.

She was mocking me. She could not be sure I was behind the mirror, but there was no other reason to put on her jewelry here. It was as though she wanted to make me mad. It was as though she was baiting me. I would not rise to the bait, but I wondered what she was planning. Did she think that her engagement to the Vicomte was unchangeable? She would get a surprise.

Still I could not help but feel angry with her. I left to go look for Raoul. I would make certain he was going to break the engagement and remind him that there were consequences if he did not. If he managed to hurt her in the process, then it was simply an added bonus.

I waited by the entrance watching as people entered.

These people were annoying and insipid creatures. Laughing and drinking in excessive amounts, they were too ignorant to fully understand how blessed they actually were. I watched as a spectator as everyone celebrated. A spectator was all that I ever could be. Tonight of all nights I _could_ walk among them undisturbed, but it was not the same. I would still be a spectator. I would never truly be a part of them.

The dream came to mind. I had not felt a part of society in that dream as well, and I had not even been deformed. It did not give me much hope. But if I thought about it, I might as well have been just a random person of society. The only thing that had held me back was the memory of my deformity. I should have been able to fit right in, but I had not wanted to. Those people had no interest in who I really was. Why would I want to be associated with them? That train of thought should apply to the present, but I still felt envy upon looking at these people.

It occurred to me that also similar to the dream, I was searching for someone. Right now, though I was only searching for Raoul because I had important business with him pertaining to Christine. Though I was certain that Christine had not been the one for whom I was searching.

I perused the room. The managers were making their circuit around the opera house greeting people and dragging scantily clad women to grope along the way. Piangi and Carlotta were trying to find her fans. In Carlotta's mind, everyone was her fan, so she was fully enjoying herself. Madame Giry was keeping an eye on everyone, but she was beginning to relax as well. Music and alcohol will do that to a person. Everyone was lost in their drunkenness and joy.

I wondered why I could not have just a piece of their happiness. Was it so horrible of me to expect that much? It must be.

I looked at the people laughing and acting like fools behind their masks. Those masks for them were an escape. They had less restraint when they wore those masks. Would they ever realize that a mask was more of a chain than any physical manacle? I doubted it. It was something that one realizes all too late. It was something one learns when a mask is the first piece of clothing given to them. I wore a mask everyday and felt no freer for it. Today, the mask was different, but it was still a necessity.

I watched the fireworks distractedly through the window.

The anger I had felt was so fleeting. It had already passed. I could not stay mad at Christine because it would only consume for no purpose. I could not have anyone else. I could not stay mad at her because she was my goal. Without her, I might as well be stuck in that dark oblivion of my dreams.

I could not stay mad at Raoul because… because… I did not know why. I just could not keep my anger towards him. Not since that morning a month ago. Not since I realized he had fooled me. He had never truly done anything horrible to me. We had just both desired the same thing at the same time. It was unfortunate at best.

Oddly enough, the object of my musings finally entered the building. I paused in my thoughts as I observed him.

Had he been on vacation? He looked quite pale actually. Maybe he had put powder on his face. I doubted it though. Something seemed off about him. On the surface, he looked perfect. Any indication that something was different would be unseen by anyone else. From me though, he could not hide so easily. It was difficult though. I had barely only started to develop the ability to read him when he disappeared for a month. He disappeared _suspiciously_ for a month. Now, he came back and once again, something suspicious is occurring with him. Why was everything surrounding the boy lately questionable?

I looked towards the entrance again expecting another person, but he appeared to have come alone. Such a shame, I had hoped that the Comte had come as well. I had wanted to see him since I first heard of his presence. There was something odd occurring with the Comte as well. I had not seen him in a whole week. I would know everything about any other person who stayed a week in my opera house, but not him. Honestly, I had been more than a little distracted by the dream the past week, but still, that did not explain why I had not even caught a glimpse of him.

Did Raoul just flinch when someone bumped into him?

I wanted to move closer to really see his expression, but I was fairly certain that he was scared. From so far away, I could only see his neutral expression. I could only see the face he wanted to show. I could only see his mask. For a split second though, he flinched.

Who was he scared of? Me?

He could not be that terrified of me. He had not been when we last spoke. In fact, I had been taken aback with how much he _was not_ afraid of me. He had approached _me_.

I watched him, transfixed with his behaviour. Something must have happened. But what? Sure, he smiled and walked very much like the old Vicomte but while everything seemed in place, I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Watching him, I just felt uneasy as though something was right before my eyes, but I could not see it. I knew I was staring but could not help it. I feared that the moment I looked away, I would lose sight of what was bothering me. I would lose the ability to see it.

I moved closer to him as I followed his movements into the building. Having a bird's eye view was not beneficial for what I had planned. I needed to be certain of what I had seen. To test my observations, I moved close enough to bump into him. Surely enough, the mask fell for just a moment and he flinched. Had I not been looking so intently, I would have missed the reaction. He had flinched though. He laughed uneasily and walked quickly away.

I trailed him and watched as he kept a fair amount of distance between himself and everyone near him. It should have been conspicuous when everyone was so drunk they draped themselves over anyone available, but he somehow moved confidently enough for it to seem normal. He was… I lost whatever thought it was when I realized a part of what had been bothering me. He was not walking normally.

This was truly interesting. Raoul was full of mysteries tonight. Actually, this person who walked through my halls was neither the Raoul nor the Vicomte roles I had seen. The question rose again. What had happened to him?

I followed him fascinated with his behaviour. I waited eagerly to see what I would discover next. When I realized that I had begun to clear the space behind him unconsciously, I had to exert some effort to stop myself since I was helping him. He did not notice though, but I wondered why I felt that it was my duty to somehow protect him. I let the distance between us grow. I was becoming distracted. He could deal with his own problems. I only had to watch him to ascertain if he would really break the engagement.

I watched his back as the distance between us grew larger. I began to feel restless. I wanted to follow him. The urge was almost unbearable. I was so focused on him that I did not even see anyone else. I did not notice when people accidentally nudged my shoulder. It would usually annoy me, but I noticed none of it. Raoul stopped walking and looked around the room. I caught sight of the look on his face, and my feet moved of their own accord. He looked lost and frightened. I moved closer to him. I realized faintly that I knew that expression from the conversation we had once shared. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

I was getting closer, but he seemed to compose himself long enough to move over to an empty alcove. I moved in the shadows near the alcove so that I could watch him unnoticed. I was thankful that the darkness in the opera house was often enough to hide a person. I doubted he would have noticed me anyway. He was busy focusing on his breathing. Deep breathes.

"_Breathe slower. Deeply."_

The words I had spoken to him that day echoed in my mind. I had also felt the need to protect him then too. I could have simply watched him hyperventilate. Instead, the words reached him and he responded. Now, I had at least controlled the words. He did not know I was following him. It would have only served to make him panic more. A part of me doubted that reaction, but I did not want to test that. This person was not Raoul. He was someone else.

It seemed so long ago that we had talked. We had not seen each other in a month and it felt as though everything had changed. _He_ seemed changed. I could not explain it, but even though he looked the same, there were facets about him that I could not rightfully name that seemed different. It was unnerving. I had not known what to expect from the Raoul I had discovered a month ago. What could I possibly expect from this person in front of me right now? Would he keep the promise made a month ago to break the engagement or is this person like the Vicomte? I wondered if this person was a friend or foe.

I scoffed at the wording my mind provided. He would be a foe no matter what. The better question would have been is he a rival for Christine's affection or will he leave her be. I hoped it was the latter. I was tired of fighting. I would do it if necessary, but the struggle was becoming so tedious. It was forcing me to be someone I did not want to be. Once the Vicomte stepped aside, I could stop being the monster. I could stop playing these roles. I hoped I could.

I watched him as he watched the others almost wistfully. Thinking he was alone, I noticed that he let down his guard again. It was good that all masks were difficult to maintain all the time. I appreciated the opportunity to gauge his reaction. He watched the others sadly. He was nothing like the arrogant Vicomte. That was comforting. I decided that it would be best if I just approached my problem directly. I would simply speak with him, threaten him, and hope he followed orders. There was no reason to kidnap him.

I was about to step out when Christine walked up to Raoul. I pulled back into the shadows.

He jumped slightly when Christine grasped his bicep. He was so nervous. Did he think I would assault him during the masquerade? I had given him until the masquerade, so I would not harm him until the night was through. I had some honour in my current state.

"Raoul," Christine smiled at him.

I rolled my eyes. That was a fake smile. I could tell nowadays. She smiled honestly with Meg sometimes, but with me and Raoul, she only gave the conditioned response she had developed. She would smile for him because he was supposed to be her fiancé, so that was the way she was supposed to react in his presence. Given the people and the surroundings, she would smile, frown, cry, or sing in my presence because I was all things evil and mysterious, so that was the way she was supposed to react to my presence.

I used to find the least bit of solace in her attention and was jealous every time she looked at someone else. Nowadays, I could only find a remnant of the anger or jealousy I had. It took too much effort, and I could never fully tell what Christine was thinking when she was with others especially with the Vicomte. I knew that she was opportunist. I knew that she would likely betray me given the right opportunity as she had before. If she could do so with me, I was certain she could do so to anyone else.

Now, I watched them and could only feel pity not only for the Vicomte, but for myself as well. It was a pity that we had placed our lots on a girl such as her. It was a pity that I only had her. At least the Vicomte would be able to find someone else. I hoped he would do the right thing. I hoped he would just move on because Christine was my last chance. He had others. He could find others, probably even better. I could kill him and put my fears aside, but my chances with Christine would be lowered. I convinced myself that that was the only reason I could not kill him.

He smiled at her and I wanted to beat some sense in him. If he could not even smile truthfully at her, he should never have tried to ask for her hand in marriage. His smile was painful to look at. I had forgotten that he could look like that. He could smile and look confident on the surface, but on the inside, it was the complete opposite. Something must have happened to him because there was something in his eyes that had not been there a month ago.

"You've been away for so long, love." Christine pouted.

I gritted my teeth at the endearment. I saw his jaw tense. I was suddenly relieved by that little indication. I was somehow now certain that he would break the engagement. He looked conflicted though.

He opened his mouth, and I thought that it would be over finally. I would be able to claim Christine as my own.

Christine saw he was about to open his mouth as well though, and she pulled him towards the crowd. He grimaced in what looked like pain and I trailed behind wondering what was wrong with him. Christine could not be holding his arm too tightly so that meant that some other part of him was injured. It would also explain why he was walking abnormally, but I could not be absolutely certain. It made sense though.

Maybe he was in a fight and had to be hospitalized. His absence and the lack of news could be explained by it. It could have been a disreputable sort of fight that his family would not want publicized. They kept it from the opera house as well because they knew Firmin knew any scandal would help the opera house.

As he choked out Christine's name painfully, I knew that the story was not true. I did not believe Raoul could do anything disreputable. Maybe it was not Raoul, but the Vicomte that seemed unable to do anything out of the norm. He seemed like the perfect Vicomte: his attitude, his look, his confidence. He would easily fit into the elitists that visited the opera house often. In fact, I had been surprised that he asked Christine to marry him. That had seemed completely out of character.

She slowed her pace and finally stopped to turn around and face him. He looked relieved. I quickly blended into the crowd, hoping not to be noticed. I did not know why I was so nervous when no one should be able to tell who I was. I moved a little closer to a distance where I could hear their conversation.

"Look," she held out the ring from her necklace.

He looked at it frowning slightly.

"Think of it. A secret engagement." She sounded honestly enthusiastic, but it still seemed false to me. I wondered if he would be affected. If he were, I would have to get to him. I would have to find a way to instill some fear of me in him. He was still frowning though. He must be annoyed still that their engagement was a secret. Had it been me in his place, I would have wanted to spread the word about an engagement, but it was not. As it was, I was glad she had not wanted to tell others. She could only cry to me when he broke it off.

She continued, "Look, your future bride. Just think of it."

"Christine," he said urgently trying to get her attention. He had cut off her statements, "Stop."

She looked at me oddly. She had not been expecting this. When she tried to drag him towards the dance floor though, I thought otherwise. She must have known. It was the reason why she was so adamant in keeping him from saying a complete sentence to her. How had she known though?

"Let's dance," she suggested.

She was so focused that she could not see him grimacing. She was hurting him again and I found myself wanting to make her stop no matter what happened. I considered just pushing her away, but Raoul seemed to grit his teeth and ignore the pain.

I watched as he stood his ground resolutely. He did not need to be encouraged by me. He seemed intent on keeping his promise. It was almost as though it was the only thing he had on his mind. He had not been distracted. I realized that he must have been looking through the opera house for Christine when he first entered. If he was so resolved now, I wondered what had kept him away in the first place. He could have broken off the engagement earlier. He could have had privacy, but instead he chose to do it now when Christine could distract him. Well, she could _potentially_ distract him. Looking at his expression, I doubted it was possible.

"I need to talk to you," he said seriously.

Christine looked resigned. She finally released his arm. I could not understand it. I knew that Raoul kept his promise and kept the engagement a secret. If he had not, I was certain that the press would have heard news of it. There was no way then that Christine could have heard that he had been planning to break the engagement. I watched Raoul as he glanced towards the entrance of the opera house. There was a familiarity of the motion that made me realize that he was expecting someone, too.

The Comte. It had to be the Comte. If Raoul were going to tell someone about the engagement, he would tell someone he trusted. He would tell his family. He probably also told the Comte that he was going to break off the engagement. It would explain why the Comte was talking to Christine so much. There were some major gaps in what was actually happening with that family and Christine, but there was one thing I was certain of. Christine knew Raoul was going to break off the engagement.

Raoul seemed to be having problems finding the words, but after glancing at the door, he quickly spoke, "The engagement is off. I can't marry you. I don't want to."

I stared at him in shock. That was callous. That was not how I expected him to break it off at all. It was done though. They were words that were said in a way to hurt. Raoul had not only wanted to break off the engagement, he wanted to hurt her in doing so.

Three little sentences. I was grinning because she actually looked genuinely surprised. She had known, but I doubted she had prepared for an end to the engagement in that manner. I was almost proud of him.

He did not look relieved or anything though. If anything, he looked more anxious.

Christine turned around ready to storm away. When he realized she was leaving, he grabbed her arm. I wondered what more he could say. He could not want to hurt her more. That would be very cruel. Grabbing her arm though, he looked about ready to topple over. Whatever had been hurting him earlier was beginning to take its toll on him. Lucky for him she stopped. She looked angrily at him and there were tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. I could not quite discern if they were real or fake. I knew that they were not tears of sadness. They were either fake or tears of anger. She was furious with him, and I knew that whatever he stopped her for, better be something very important.

"What?" she spat.

I was surprised that he did not flinch. There was a resoluteness in him again that seemed to overpower any other emotion.

He held out his hand, "I would like the ring back please."

I stared at him in awe. I could not believe that he had actually asked for it back. I could understand why he wanted it, but he had money. He could easily buy his next fiancé a brand new ring. I wondered what sentimental value this particular ring held for him. It _must_ be great in value for him to ask it from her directly after breaking off the engagement.

She reached up to hold the ring and for a moment, I actually thought she would return it without argument. Instead, she slapped him with all the strength she had. His head whipped to the right and she stormed away from him. He stumbled and this time I could not stop the reflex from reaching out. I subtly supported him as he finally caught himself. I quickly moved back out of the way. I wondered if he realized, but he looked disoriented. I doubted he even knew what had hit him. He flexed my jaw and his cheek reddened. He looked embarrassedly around finally conscious that there were other people around him. No one had really been paying attention, and I made certain I looked absorbed in some action as his gaze swept over me.

He belatedly realized that Christine had left. He searched the crowd desperately for any sign of Christine and I searched along with him, but she had disappeared. He looked about ready to fall, but somehow he found the energy to move forward. I found myself following him. What was it about the ring that he wanted it so badly? It was obvious that he was in no condition to be moving around so much.

He was so focused that he even stopped flinching when people bumped into him. I was glad that he was so focused. It made helping him easier. I followed him, but I had to stop looking for Christine in the process. I could only watch him. Though Raoul smiled and strode with some normalcy, there were moments when he would sway unsteadily, when he would misstep, when he would almost fall from being bumped too hard. They were all actions that could be explained with alcohol, but I knew he had not touched a single drop. I had to steady him every time. He was making a valiant effort himself so I had not needed anything more than a slight nudge or support, but it was needed all the same.

He literally ran into the managers one time though. They smiled and laughed as they welcomed him. I watched as he schooled his expression. He smiled and they did not suspect a thing. I thought that Firmin might be able to catch it, especially when Andre hit Raoul on the back. The Vicomte could not suppress the wince. The managers simply continued the conversation then moved on to the next guest.

It could not be any more obvious to me though. He looked tired, smile or no smile. He looked like it took sheer force to move his legs forward. Something was forcing him to search for the ring and I wondered what was driving him. He kept glancing towards the entrance, so I knew it had something to do with the Comte. What role the Comte played in all this was a mystery to me still though. Had I not been so worried, I would have been frustrated by the whole situation.

He finally stopped moving and I watched him. He looked like he was in so much pain. I wanted to do something. Then I realized I _had been_ doing something. I had been helping him again without realizing it. I shook my head at my own actions. I should have left him alone the moment he broke the engagement. I did not care about the small details. I did not care that he wanted the ring so badly that he would push his own body to its limits. I only cared that he broke it off. That was where my dealings with him ended.

I had to force myself to look away from him. This was absurd. I had already predicted that I would become distracted by him at least once tonight, but I had not realized it would be this involved. I had been helping him.

I walked away resolutely. It was almost time for me to make my entrance. I was grateful I realized what I was doing soon enough. I would have been furious at myself if I let my distraction ruin my re-introduction to the opera house.

I quickly raced downstairs, my thoughts still focused on Raoul. Upon reaching my home though, I forced myself to forget about it. My purpose, my goal was within reach now. Whatever happened with the Vicomte would be none of my concern. I dressed in my costume and grabbed Don Juan Triumphant before making my way to the top of the stair well.

Entering, I realized it was much too easy to impress these people. Walking down the stairs, I looked at all their expressions. They all watched me in awe. I could have been a god among men; instead, I was the devil.

My eye was drawn away from the managers and Christine when someone moved. It was Raoul. He looked as though he had been trying to creep forward. He was headed towards Christine. I felt a little bad for having disrupted him. He finally found her only to be interrupted.

I cleared my throat to refocus myself. He turned to leave the room, and I briefly wondered where he was going.

I did not care about what happened with the Vicomte. I did not.

I threw my opera down the stairs and flinched. I had worked very hard on that opera and throwing it down the stairs like a petulant child was reckless. I moved forward though. Seeing the managers, Carlotta, Piangi, and Christine all in a row, I wondered if I could have planned this any better. I gave my instructions to the four and walked towards to Christine.

She looked at me not in fear. She was challenging me. Her eyes held no sign that she had been crying, and from the corner of my eye, I saw that she had been with some other man. She knew something. Christine already had another plan, one that she was confident in. She held my gaze evenly… very confident in.

I noticed the moment that Raoul returned to the room. I glanced at his direction, but he held his place. Though he had returned with a rapier, he stayed away. It was his indication that they were no longer attached. I was secretly relieved that he was still on his feet.

Then I realized that I was paying too much attention to him again.

In my annoyance, I acted before thinking. I leaned forward, annoyed with both Christine and myself, and whispered, "Your chains are still mine. You belong to me." I grabbed the ring and escaped the way I had planned.

I was lucky that I had already moved or else Raoul would have fallen on me. I was surprised that he was even able to move that fast. The trap door above him closed almost immediately. He somehow managed to stay on his feet upon falling, and I watched. What was I to do with him? I wanted to leave him alone, but he followed me. I knew I was making excuses. For some reason, I _could not_ leave him alone, so I took the ring so that he would follow me. I had not thought about it, but I had also not expected him to be able to follow me.

He held his sword at ready, and I almost laughed. He could barely stand. I doubted he could handle it if we fought. So instead, I watched.

"Phantom," he called a little uncertainly.

I answered by moving to a place where he would notice me.

He turned but I had already moved.

"I need to talk to you," he spoke with a little more authority this time.

Everything I had been feeling about him since I first laid eyes on him started to rise within me. I was jealous about his good looks and station in life. I was envious of his relationship with Christine as a child. I was annoyed that I could not concentrate when he was near. I was angry that he had disappeared. I was disappointed that he had waited to the last day to keep his word. I was uncertain about why I reacted the way I did whenever he was around. The most prominent of those emotions however was confusion. I was confused about the way he acted, the reason he was giving up on Christine, the reason he disappeared, the reason he came back changed. I was confused about myself. There were so many questions left unanswered that it bothered me. It was consuming me.

I started to take out my frustration on him as I played with his mind. I allowed myself to be seen just barely. He turned each time to try to catch me, but I would not let him. It was a losing battle. He was in my territory and in my trap. I was the predator and he was the prey. It would be easy to kill him. I was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard Madame Giry approaching. Raoul must have heard it as well for he turned toward her voice.

I quickly intercepted him and hurt him in the place where I assumed hurt the most. I kneed him in the abdomen. His mouth opened in a silent scream. It would seem that my assumption was correct. I only felt a slight pang of guilt for doing so, but I was still frustrated. He doubled over in pain and I used my elbow to hit him on the back of the head. He dropped to the floor grabbing his head.

He tried to curl up into a ball but not having any energy, he simply laid on the floor unmoving. He squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled something that sounded like 'Not again' before losing consciousness.

I had been planning on leaving him, but upon hearing those words, I picked him up. I managed to leave right at the moment that Madame Giry opened the door.

It was empty by the time she stepped in. She would know I had taken him and would inform the managers.

I had other things to worry about, the first of which was the blood that was now staining both Raoul's and my clothing.

o.o.o

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End ch12

word count: 6,003

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

That was a good/evil cliff hanger if you ask me!

Oh, I have a surprise for you in the next chapter. I'm not sure if it's a good surprise or not, but it'll explain a few things. :oP

Additionally, I have a holiday crackfic that I'm going to post. It's a short one that was only edited for grammatical errors and not bad storytelling, so don't expect too much. It'll only be 2 chapters.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Inspiration has its price.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: Make sure to check whose POV this is!!! We have a guest POV!

A/N: I guess I could just profusely apologize, but what's the point if I can't maintain my writing schedule? I don't know. Here's the next chapter. It's been a hit and miss writing this chapter. I can't promise how consistent I will be from now on, but I figured I should at least post what I do finish.

I've come to the conclusion that there will be no more A/N's since what can I do. All I can do is apologize and that's annoying because I'm sure I'll be apologizing so much. :o( So instead, it will simply be story notes.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 13

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Philippe's POV (Remember, Raoul's unconscious)

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Last time (Raoul's POV even though this won't matter as much since this chapter's not his POV):

He was playing with me. Just like Philippe, but the thought did not settle well with me. The phantom could not be like Philippe. I did not think that the world could survive with two people like Philippe. I knew I could not. I open my mouth again, but suddenly he was appearing everywhere. The constant turning to catch just the barest sight of him was making me dizzy, but I needed to stop him. A part of me knows that he's nowhere I could possibly reach him. This was a losing battle. Not only did I feel too weak to continue this game, but I was also in one of his traps.

I turned when I heard what sounded like Madame Giry's voice, but when I did, a knee swung into my abdomen. My mouth opened in a silent scream. I was in too much pain and shock for anything to come out. Doubled over, something hard connected to the back of my head. I dropped to the floor already feeling the headache forming.

I tried to cling onto consciousness, but it was too hard. It was too painful. I was too weak. The last thought I had before blacking out was, 'Please, not again.'

o.o.o

Remember: Philippe's POV

I arrived at the opera house only to find it in disarray. I could not stop the wave of disgust I felt watching these sheep run around. I did not bother hiding the scowl I knew to be on my face. Everyone was in a frenzy; it hardly mattered. Albeit reluctantly, for I did not want to waste my time, I pressed forward in search of pitiful Raoul and his managers.

I had to forcefully stop a person rushing out of the building to ask, "Where are the managers?"

The stranger looked indignant for only a moment before wincing at the grip I had on his arm. Squirming in my grasp, he answered, "They're in the main hall."

I released him and scoffed at his weakness. I had not even grabbed his arm that strongly. I strode through the entrance pushing people aside as they hurriedly left the building. Most people avoided me completely, for which I was pleased. It was good that people understood their place in my presence.

It was much too early for the gala to be finished and I saw no signs that there was a fire, so I wondered why everyone was so eager to leave. The show could not have been that bad though I did wonder if that indeed were the reason.

I looked at the gaudy decorative statues and wondered why Raoul even bothered with this dump. The managers were idiot sycophants. Their prima donna, Carlotta, was a tone deaf narcissist. Their male lead, Piangi, was an obese lap dog. Their supposed new singer, Christine, was a conniving opportunist. At least her, I could tolerate. Opportunists were what made society function. Beyond that, I was surprised that the opera house was still operational. However, scandals were abound with the Opera Populaire, and the wealthy found such joy in scandals. The tickets would sell even without a proper owner. Case in point Raoul, he was not too bright. This was probably the only business that he could reasonably control, and even that, he could not do well.

As I walked through the building, it was nice to finally be able to look at the surroundings leisurely. After discovering from Christine that there really was an Opera Ghost and having confirmed it later with Raoul, I knew I had to be on guard. I doubted that this supposed ghost had left after his disappearance. He was simply waiting for the right moment to reveal himself. Timing was very important to make the correct impression on people. Life was all about using others weaknesses against them. Looking at the chaos that was only beginning to subside, I amusedly knew that this Opera Ghost knew how to play on the fears of these peons quite well.

I had chosen not to stay long inside the building even though the ghost intrigued me greatly. I listened to stories of his terrorizing the singers and dancers. At first, I dismissed the events as simple parlor tricks until I heard the story of the night of Il Muto. A death was something to be noticed.

To think that pathetic Raoul had tried to oppose this ghost was laughable. Life was a game of tactics, and I was the master tactician. I was the general who controlled what moves occurred. Had I to place Raoul in a position, he would be nothing but a pawn. He would in fact be the first pawn I would sacrifice to place my other pieces in a better position. I smirked at my own analogy.

Finally catching sight of the two managers, I walked over to them. They were yelling at the people to be 'calm and assured that nothing else would happen.' Of course, since they themselves seemed quite upset, no one listened to them. I waited impatiently for only a moment before interrupting them, not even bothering with pleasantries.

"What has occurred?" I asked expecting that they give me a satisfactory answer.

Andre was the first one to turn to me. He looked flustered and quite unprepared to answer me. He sputtered a few syllables and lifted up his hands which held a stack of bound papers before turning to Firmin. I knew I scared Andre. He was never comfortable in my presence, and I was glad he was not. He was very simple minded. If he were anything but afraid of me, I would have to teach him a lesson like I had taught Raoul. Those inferior should know their place.

Firmin looked at me and gave a grim smile. Though similar to Andre, I could appreciate Firmin. He was discerning and quick to understand what was needed in a situation. Unfortunately, it hardly covered the fact that he was an idiot sycophant. It did however make him the slightest bit better than Andre. He seemed ruthless as a businessman. He was someone with whom I could appreciate working. However, he had his own vices that needed to be watched carefully.

"I'm sorry, Comte." He gestured vaguely at the disarray. "We have just been visited by the Opera Ghost."

I considered this new development before nodding. I had been correct in my assumption that the ghost was still around. It was good that I had remained scarce since Raoul's adversary was indeed still alive. I waited for further explanation but wondered if the appearance of one man, one ghost was enough to send these people into a frenzy.

"He ordered us to perform his opera," Firmin indicated to the manuscript in Andre's hands. I had wondered what the fool was holding. So, the ghost could write operas. Interesting specter.

Neither said anything for a moment. I knew Andre would not say anything so I looked to Firmin. Firmin seemed reluctant to go on. I pinned him with a glare. He was withholding something from me and that was not an intelligent move.

"Also," Firmin fidgeted slightly, "during his escape, he grabbed a necklace from Mlle Daae and left through a trap door." I could see no problem with this. I hardly cared if the Opera Ghost had a fondness for accessories. "The Vicomte followed and we have not been able to find him since."

I almost laughed aloud. Raoul managed to get himself kidnapped. Well, if that Opera Ghost thought that the boy could be ransomed, he would have a rude awakening. It did not make any sense though. Unless Raoul was going against the fear I had instilled within him in the basement, something was wrong. I thoroughly doubted that Raoul could have done anything so bold without a reason. I had seen the way he trembled under my gaze. He would not, in fact, he could not disobey me.

"A necklace you say?" I prompted.

"It appeared to be ring," Andre supplied.

I brought my hand up and cleared my throat to hide the smile on my face. It _would_ be the ring. At least I was certain Raoul was being a good little pawn. This would truly be an interesting visit to Paris. I was suddenly glad that I had finished all my other business earlier tonight. I had thought to stay only to keep an eye on brainless Raoul's progress, but now that this was occurring, it would be more entertaining. I forced myself to frown and look distraught before continuing.

"Where was this trap door?"

Andre and Firmin looked to each other before moving a couple of feet and pointing to the ground. So, the Opera Ghost had trap doors throughout the building. It was a good thing I had remained scarce. He could have caught me. I doubt as easily as Raoul, but since I had been unaware of the gravity of the situation, I could have been caught by surprise.

I walked onto the trap door and looked around. It was in an area that many people walked on every day. The lever to open it would have to be very well hidden or else anyone could have accidentally opened it. No, it was too well hidden for that to happen.

I looked at the two managers and had to ask, "And you know how this trap operates?"

Firmin and Andre shared a look and both shook their heads. I did not think they would.

"Do you know where it leads?"

Again both shook their heads. How could they even know that their patron was missing then?

Firmin finally answered, "You should speak with Madame Giry. She knows a lot about this opera house and its ghost. She was the one that told us that the Opera Ghost had kidnapped the Vicomte."

I nodded. I would definitely have to find this Madame Giry. I had seen her from afar and heard a few stories from Christine. She seemed like a very austere individual. I turned to look around and was surprised to find someone had snuck up behind me. Not many people could do that. Not many people had survived to do it again. However, this Madame Giry seemed to be one to live to tell tales. If she dealt with the Opera Ghost, it was obvious she would have to be.

"Comte."

"Madame Giry."

Her gaze, her voice, her posture was disturbing. I suddenly felt like I was six years old again being scolded by my father. No one, not even my mother could do that to me anymore.

I did not quite know what to make of her. She seemed to be a very calculating person, not so much calculating as very much an observer. She knew much more than she let people to think. I was wary of her presence to say the least. She had too much power, too much authority, and I knew that I did not want to cross paths with her too often. If she knew about the Opera Ghost, she may actually be an adversary, but I could not be left unawares in this new game.

She began to walk away not bothering to look behind to see if I followed. No one had treated me so inferiorly in my life. I was tempted to not follow, but once again, I had to remind myself that this was for a good cause. I would finally find something with which to amuse myself. Furthermore, it would look suspicious if I did not try to save Raoul. As the Comte, I would have to put forth much effort to search for the missing Vicomte. I reluctantly followed her.

We had barely turned a corner when she stopped walking. I looked around. This alcove of the opera house was indeed empty and the sounds of the horde that we had just left seemed to fade into the background. I found the silence strange since I knew we were not very far from the main hall.

An unbidden thought came. This would be the perfect place to kill someone. It was close enough to the main hall that anyone could have done it, and noise was silenced here. I wondered how many places like this one were in the opera house and how many times they had been used simply for that purpose.

One thing was certain though. This was a woman who I could not test. She brought me here for a reason, and I knew she could just as easily find another reason, one that was not to my benefit. Her stern features almost frightened me. There was this aura about her. She had the sort of authority that came with knowledge and as far as the Opera Ghost was concerned, she was the most knowledgeable.

I assured myself that she would not harm me. She knew nothing of what I did to Raoul nor what I planned to do to the Opera Ghost. I stood my ground because I needed to know what she did.

She turned to face me, "I assume the managers have told you about the Vicomte."

I nodded. She had expected no response since she continued without pausing.

"You are aware of the Opera Ghost."

I nodded once more. I responded cautiously, "I had heard stories from Christine."

Treading lightly had never been my strong point and it felt awkward to attempt it now. The look she gave told me that that was a topic she would like to breach but would do so later.

"I only tell you this because your brother has been taken."

I listened as Madame Giry relayed the Opera Ghost's story: how this ghost had been in a traveling carnival, the 'devil's child' and how he had become a murderer then. I had not expected such a story, but it did not matter. This ghost, this man was an opponent. He was a tactician who had the advantage. Moreover, the man was a supposed genius. This would indeed be fun.

Genius or not, our paths had crossed and I would show him what freaks like him deserved. They deserved to die.

Upon finishing her story, I inquired, "How did you know that the Vicomte was missing?"

The woman looked around surreptitiously as though not wanting others to know she knew of the secret passages. I would have thought that had been obvious. If she was the one who knew most about the Opera Ghost and even the managers knew of her connection to the specter, then would it not be logical that she knew not only of his traps but maybe also of his home.

"I know of some of his traps, Monsieur," she answered cautiously.

Madame Giry looked at me warily. She did not trust me. In fact, I think she did not want to be telling me any of this at all. I wondered if she was really only doing so to save Raoul. She must know that the Opera Populaire would still manage without the Vicomte, and to save face, I would support it even if Raoul were never found. I wondered what she was trying to accomplish by helping me. She could not want to save Raoul after having protected the Opera Ghost for so long. I did not bother to think on it any longer for I only needed her for what she knew. I only needed her because she knew more about the phantom than she was letting on. I would have to ascertain a means of obtaining that knowledge for myself.

Madame Giry looked reluctant to say anything more. I realized that I would have to find other means to learn more of this phantom. Madame Giry had protected him before, and I was correct in assuming that she would do so again.

This recent act of kidnapping that twit of a Vicomte was not so unheard of in his behaviour for it to be unexpected. I could not be certain _why_ exactly the phantom had taken Raoul, but he had kidnapped before. He had kidnapped Christine.

Christine.

I bowed shallowly before bidding Mme. Giry adieu and taking my leave.

I headed back towards the main hall only to find it relatively empty. The managers were gone and only the maids were left to clean up the mess that has been made. Some were obviously drunk, but they attempted to clean nonetheless.

I needed to find Christine, so I headed towards her room. I knew my way fairly well around the opera house, but not having the opportunity to truly know the landscape would be a handicap. I would have to remedy that soon. As long as the Opera Ghost had Raoul, he would hopefully not harm me. There had to be a purpose to the kidnapping and that monster would have to keep me safe if he hoped to receive anything for Raoul.

I knocked quietly on Christine's door. I heard no response but I heard rustling. There was movement in the room. I opened the door slowly only to find Christine in all sorts of disarray. Her hair was mussed, and she paced nervously to and fro. She looked as though she were about to cry.

I cleared my throat softly. Finally recognizing my presence, she ran into my arms and sobbed loudly.

I smiled at this. This situation could not have happened any better than if I had planned it. I had been visiting her often to plant the seeds of distrust. I had been certain that Raoul would eventually bend to my will. It was only a matter of time. He tried to rebel. He had been trying for so long to believe I loved him. I had seen it in his eyes when I had first arrived. He wanted to believe I had the best interest in mind for him. He had always been slow. Christine had been easy to sway. I was certain that she understood they would never be married as long as I was alive. She had taken to my companionship easily enough for me to know that fact.

"It's horrible. Just horrible." She wailed.

I shushed her. I did not want anyone to find us like this. It would be irksome.

However, I was not sure for what reason she was exactly upset. I determined that it was either because Raoul was kidnapped, because Raoul had broken the engagement, or because the Opera Ghost had taken the ring. It seemed to me more to be the latter than the former reasons. She was not upset about Raoul's disappearance though she would like me to think so.

I gently led her to her bed and sat down beside her.

I made my voice as gentle as possible, "Tell me what happened."

"You were right," Christine began, "All this time you were right. Raoul is nothing but a little boy. A fickle little boy."

I was glad she had leaned her face on my shoulder. I tried to hide the smirk but I was certain it was showing if only a little.

"I didn't believe you at first," at this she looked up, and I managed to look sympathetic in time. She continued, seemingly satisfied with the look, "I didn't think that he would be so petty, but just like you were telling me before, he's nothing but a philanderer."

She began to weep once more, and I could not help but appreciate the effort she was putting into this act. I had seen many women of her kind, but she was truly a specimen that stood out. She was taking this deceit to a whole new level. She could play the part of the spurned lover extremely well.

I distantly recalled her as she was as a child when Raoul had been smitten for her and her father's attention. I had not thought things would turn out this way.

"So, what exactly did happen?" I prompted. I was a little angered at myself for having missed the past events. I would have liked to have seen my brother jump into that trap. I would have liked to have seen him break his engagement off with Christine even more. I hoped she had slapped him. It would have made my night complete. Though having him kidnapped was a surprisingly nice turn of events. It seemed those threats I had made to Raoul in the basement could actually come to pass.

Christine leaned back and composed herself, "During the masquerade, I approached him and was trying to get him to dance. He refused and suddenly, he says that we should break the engagement off."

I forced myself to look surprised and appalled at his actions.

She nodded fervently and added in pure disbelief, "and then the gall of him to ask when I was running away to try to contain my sadness if he could have the ring back."

I was having a hard time not smiling, but I could always manage to have the correct expression for the moment. I was a Comte. I was charming and sympathetic. It was who I was as a Comte. Christine was expressive and emotional. Christine was an actress. It was who we were.

Right now, she was being truly dramatic, and if I were a lesser man, I would have believed every word that fell from her mouth. I was not a lesser man, and I did not believe her. I could believe the facts that she was relaying, but she did not seem to have any emotions for anyone but herself.

"Then I remembered about what you said about him," She looked at me with doe eyes. At least, she was pretty. It was a shame that she knew it all too well. Low self-esteem was quite enjoyable in others. Raoul being a prime example of that, but he was a work I had struggled hard to maintain. For what he was emotionally, he was a masterpiece that I had created.

I nodded to tell her to continue her story. She said, "I remember how you said that he had done this before: asking for a girl's hand in marriage and changing his mind the last moment. I remember that you said the others were able to keep their rings and that I should too. So I refused."

I could not fully hide the grin that was now showing. I knew she would not be able to tell though. I kept my face mostly emotionless and the grin expressed itself as but a mere tightening in my jaw. I knew she was willfully believing these stories. She knew they were lies, but if they helped her own lies, she would use them. She would play the innocently misled young girl, but she didn't know with whom she was dealing. She may have ulterior motives, but I would be in control of every step of the way from here on out.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and squeezed just a bit. She turned into my arms and hugged me.

"I tried to warn you," I said mournfully, "I was only looking out for you. He's still such a boy. He doesn't know anything about sadness and pain. What he does to people is so horrible."

I felt her nod before sobbing once more and continuing, "Then later on, the Opera Ghost ruins the masquerade. He comes and threatens us all and gives us an opera that he had written."

She sighed and I wondered what hold this Opera Ghost had on her. That sigh was not one of sadness. It was of something else and it was only the second time that she did it did I realize what it was. She was infatuated with him. Maybe not so much infatuated as it seemed she had a vested interest in the man. I remembered that the ghost had given her her first leading role. He had also kidnapped her. He had forced the leading role on her during Il Muto as well, and I was sure that this next opera would have her as the prima donna once more. The ghost did seem terribly fixated on her in ways that were only to her benefit. She was good. I shouldn't forget that.

She continued her story and I continued to look concerned and nod in the right places, "He grabbed the ring from my neck and exited through a trap door in the floor. Raoul ran after him, and that was the last I have heard of him since. Madame Giry says to be wary because he has been taken."

"Yes," I replied somberly, "we must all be careful. Especially you. We wouldn't want to let poor little Raoul's sacrifice go to waste."

She nodded and put on a brave face. She looked at me pleadingly, "You will help the opera house now that Raoul's gone missing, won't you?"

I smirked a little. That was her game. She had not even asked about Raoul. She had not asked for me to save Raoul, instead she asked to save the opera house. The opera house would have to survive. It was her livelihood, at least until she could entrap another wealthy suitor. "Of course, I must find my baby brother. Nothing is more important than family and loyalty."

Christine further clung to me. "My heart hurts terribly so. I do not know what to do."

She swooned precariously away from my shoulder. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but instead I fell into my role quite easily. I could play the hero easily. I steadied her, and a plan suddenly dawned upon me.

I turned her to face me. If the Opera Ghost wanted this woman, I could use her to lure him out. The ghost had probably stolen the ring because he knew that Raoul was his rival and thus needed to dispose of him. I already considered Raoul dead; he had been dead to me a long time already.

"They say the only way to cure heartache is to find a new love to soothe the pain," I murmured leaning closer to her.

She did not look confused. She didn't even pretend to. She had wanted this to happen. I was sure she wanted the same thing from me as she wanted from Raoul. She wanted security, stability, and a title. All women were trying to obtain that from me. It no longer surprised me. However, I now wanted something from her, and I would obtain it. I would use her.

I leaned forward. The way our eyes stared at each other seemed to be filled not with affection but with challenge.

I kissed her brutally, using teeth and tongue. Nipping at her lips to make sure she knew I could give more. She returned in suit with fervor. She was no blushing virgin. She knew as well as I did that this was indeed a challenge.

She smirked when the kiss was through. I leered back. There were no more lies between us. Each of us knew the other would use deceit and cunning to obtain what we wanted. She would act as would I. It was in our nature. It was the way in which society functioned.

Then the moment was gone. She smiled softly and turned coyly away, "You should go now. The others will probably check in soon. They would worry that I had been stolen by the Opera Ghost."

I stood up and smiled in a gentlemanly manner. Bowing to her, I replied, "Of course, and be safe while I try to figure this out."

I turned and left.

That moment had been a surprise. I knew she had ulterior motives and she knew I had my own. That was now painfully obvious. She wanted me to know that even though both of us had plans, she would come out victorious. It was not as it was between her and Raoul. Raoul had always been oblivious. He would always deny what was right before his eyes before wanting to think badly of others. I had fostered that belief in him. No, the tension that hung in the air between Christine and me was nothing like that. We each knew how we were to act in front of others, she the spurned innocent love and me the worried Comte. We had only momentarily let those masks fall to acknowledge what we both knew. We knew how to thrive in this life, and we would do whatever it took to do so.

I loved a challenge.

I had much to do, but first I would have to find the managers. Luckily, the managers were in their office and I made certain the opera house would be fine if I left for a while. They assured me that everything would return to normal soon. I left them uncertain of their promises but surprisingly enough, they were not lying. The spectators had all left and the cleaners had sobered enough that their work to make the Opera Populaire shine once more was not futile. Evidently the Opera Ghost did terrorize this place much too often that routine had been set.

I headed home, the anticipation making me giddy.

Entering the house, I head to the sitting room to find my mother sitting by the fireplace reading a book.

"Mother," I said calmly. No need to excite her just yet, but I knew I had to break the fact that Raoul had been kidnapped to her tonight. She would wonder where Raoul was.

She turned to face me smiling. Seeing my grim expression, she frowned herself. "Why are you home so early?"

She looked behind me, "Where is Raoul? Did he break the engagement off?"

I sat across her and stared into the fire. "He has indeed broken off the engagement. I promised you that he would, didn't I?"

She looked appeased if only momentarily, "I know. I trust you. That was why I called for you. You have been gone for far too long."

"Yes, I have," I looked at her, smiling only slightly.

"What," she knew something was wrong, "happened? Are you okay?"

I nodded, thinking of a way to break this to her.

"You seem happy," she commented. Apparently my mother knew me entirely too well. She continued, "I'm glad that this matter has been settled. I could not bear to think on it any longer. I am glad Raoul has finally come back to his senses."

I sighed dramatically, "Raoul has been kidnapped."

She frowned and considered what I said. "What did you say?"

"He has been kidnapped," I repeated.

"By whom? When? Where?" She barraged me with questions. She did not stop until she realized something, "He has broken the engagement off, correct?"

I nodded.

She threw her book on the floor angrily, "First the engagement and now this kidnapping. How could he?"

I smiled at my mother's antics. She had always been concerned more than I about our image in society. I tried to appease her, "Do not worry, mother. Since the engagement has been broken, this kidnapping will do nothing to us. It will only become a scandal for the Opera Populaire. We will actually receive all of the sympathy."

She looked at me with doubt only momentarily before calming down considerably. "You are correct. It seems such a pity though."

"It does. Doesn't it?" I said lightly.

"You don't care?" She asked, "You sully our basement for a month, and now you do not care?"

"Oh, mother," I stood up and poured myself a glass of brandy, "if you remember, you were the one that suggested it."

She snorted, "It was safer than your idea to take him out of the city."

"Indeed," I commented.

"This does explain why you are happy," she replied, "You never did like him very much even when you were a child. Oh, I remember how you used to make him cry."

She laughed lightly. I frowned at her. Raoul was an annoyance in my life that never went away, a constant reminder of the idiocy I had to face everyday.

"I do expect some effort from you though," she scolded, "You must look concerned. You must look for him. Troublesome as it is. Raoul never knew how to be a proper Vicomte. He did not listen to us at all. You, on the other hand, have always made me proud. I expect you to find a way to keep the Chagny's in good light during this time."

I waved dismissively at her. I knew very well how to act. "I shall search valiantly of course."

Silence descended. Both of us were content with how things were moving. The engagement had been broken. Our name had been saved. Raoul had been kidnapped.

Mother broke the silence. "Maybe," she said contemplatively, "you should not search too hard."

I looked at her questioningly, "Were you not the one that said it was a pity?"

"It is. It is," she defended. She continued slowly, "It may be more beneficial to us if he did not return though. He has been falling astray."

I laughed aloud, "True indeed, mother. How about Raoul dying by his kidnapper's hand, but the brave Comte obtaining his revenge by killing the famed Opera Ghost?"

Mother shook her head affectionately, "You have always been fond of games. You be careful now though."

I looked at her in mock astonishment, "I am always serious. I know of no such games."

Laughing, she responded, "You have always had a penchant for games. Raoul was just never strong enough to take it."

I smiled at her. At least, I had her approval. Now, I would have to set everything in motion.

o.o.o.o

End ch13

Word count: 5,442

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter Review: Philippe's an ass. So's Raoul's mom though. How sad for him!

To those who still read this... I salute you!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. The blood that stains our hands. Chapter 14 is major cookie for you guys since it's so long.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note(s):

Erik's thoughts are a bit jumbled. Not too badly, but I wanted to warn you just in case.  
Madame Giry is portrayed differently than from Pass Time (though I tend to lean towards that characterization).

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 14

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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Last time:

I quickly intercepted him and hurt him in the place where I assumed hurt the most. I kneed him in the abdomen. His mouth opened in a silent scream. It would seem that my assumption was correct. I only felt a slight pang of guilt for doing so, but I was still frustrated. He doubled over in pain and I used my elbow to hit him on the back of the head. He dropped to the floor grabbing his head.

He tried to curl up into a ball but not having any energy, he simply laid on the floor unmoving. He squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled something that sounded like 'Not again' before losing consciousness.

I had been planning to leave him, but upon hearing those words, I picked him up. I managed to leave right at the moment that Madame Giry opened the door.

It was empty by the time she stepped in. She would know I had taken him and would inform the managers.

I had other things to worry about, the first of which was the blood that was now staining both Raoul's and my clothing.

o.o.o

I had grabbed him on an impulse. Curiosity. Obsession. Was there a difference with me? Raoul was a mystery and I could not help but wonder. What had those words meant?

_Not again._

Did it have something to do with his disappearance? Had someone beaten him? It would explain the awkwardness with which he walked. Mostly, it would explain the blood that was quickly saturating both our clothing.

I had picked him up and carried him in my arms. I had almost thrown him over my shoulder but knew that it would only hurt him further. For some reason, I could not bring myself to hurt him again. The frustration that I had felt seemed to have vanished the moment I heard those words. He had looked so pitiable in that state. Weak and scared. I thought I had been looking at myself when I had been but a child.

I could let myself think that was the only reason I was worried, couldn't I? He reminded me of a time that I actually wanted so dearly to forget, but could not.

I knew that I was once that weak. I had once been the victim of everyone's physical manifestation of their hatred. I had spent many nights on the cold floor thankful for the reprieve of unconsciousness. I had wanted someone to save me. I had wanted someone to rescue me. But… but who would rescue a monster? The answer I discovered was no one. No one would rescue a monster. No one had.

Should _he_ not have a saviour? Didn't anyone think to save him from whatever was harming him? Moreover, who was I to think that I could play the saviour? I only knew destruction. I could only create chaos. Yet, here he was in my arms. I knew no compassion. How was I to bestow it upon another? A monster could not be rescued. Raoul was no monster though. He had no disfigurement. He had no mask… he did though. But, could no one tell his pain? Was he all alone in this?

I wished I had realized sooner that I was all alone in my struggle. To think that I had been naïve once in my lifetime. Naïve! Me? It was enough to make the self-loathing easier. I had been ignorant then. Life was a harsh teacher though. I wished I had taken action sooner and killed the slave driver at the carnival before all those torturous 'shows'. Being displayed as a freak of nature had felt like a nightmare. My whole childhood had been a nightmare. It had been one disappointment after the other. But then again, I had been nothing but an animal. Animals should not feel disappointment. They should be lucky to still be alive. It had been suffocating to live in that cage. I had been dying slowly with each cruel laugh, glare, sneer, and insult. I had been dubbed the living dead and I had felt as one. In reality, it had been his death, my first murder that had been my freedom. A life for a life.

This life in my arms… for whom would he be sacrificed? Had I left him there, he might have died. That was a lie though. Madame Giry had been coming. She could have helped him. She would have immediately seen the blood and assumed that I had done it to him. He would have been saved. However, some part of me doubted that gravely. Raoul was injured because he had been let free. At least in captivity, I would be the only one that could possibly injure him.

Maybe I should turn around. I _could_ only harm him. Although feelings for another person that I had never felt before had arisen, I was more of a danger to him than anyone else was. I was sure what I felt right now was worry and compassion. They were foreign emotions, and I could not quite fully grasp why I was feeling them. I was also actually feeling remorse; remorse for having hit him. I had never felt these before. Why should I? The world showed no compassion to me. I had no compassion for anyone else. So, why now? Why?

Captivity or freedom. Raoul would be hurt either way, but it was too late to turn back now. Could a cage really offer a life? Maybe freedom was worse for him. Maybe fate would be kind enough to stave my more belligerent tendencies.

Fate had been kind to me only once before. There had been some grace on my side when Madame Giry offered me a haven. I had already learned though to not trust anyone. I had learned to only take care of myself, to only look out for my own needs. Madame Giry understood that and kept her distance. She understood that I was not capable of being compassionate or polite.

But, this act was being compassionate. I _should_ be capable of anything. It was only my role as the monster that had held me back. It was only my mask that kept me from fully being human, humane. I had hoped that I was more. I had hoped that I could eventually drop all the pretenses. Still with all those hopes, I was confused that I was helping Raoul.

I had always been held apart from society. I had always been alone. Only take care of oneself. It was the only way to fully be safe. Stay away from others unless you absolutely need to be nearer. I rarely spoke to anyone. The only people I spoke to were Christine and Madame Giry. I had only tutored Christine. I only spoke to Madame Giry about business at the opera house. She cared for me for some reason. She cared so she tried to hide the fear that I knew she had of me. She was not immune to fear. She was just as afraid of death as anyone else was. My name was synonymous with death. She was not immune to my anger or horrible disfigurement. She however, knew how to tread. I had also been uncommonly lenient on her. She was a danger to keep alive since she knew too much, but she had yet to betray me. She and I both knew the moment I thought she had been disloyal, I would kill her. That was the monster I was. So, she tread lightly. She did not seek me out. She did not speak to me unnecessarily.

Only one man had. Not a man though. A boy. I often forgot how young Raoul really was. He was but a boy really; a boy trying to act like a man. He had spoken to me, willingly even. He had been open and honest. I did not think that he had meant to be, but he had. I could read him. I could read his emotions and almost see his thoughts. It had felt like a connection. It had felt as though I was no longer the spectator of life that I had been for as long as I had been breathing. I had felt like a participant.

It was stupid to want more though. I would always be a spectator. I had no place in society. The only bridge was Raoul. Maybe I was simply using him. I was helping him so that I could use him to bridge that chasm. Raoul seemed innocent enough to believe me if I acted correctly. If I played on _his_ compassion, maybe I could be more than a spectator. Maybe I could be more than the voice behind the mirror.

I could not though. Part of me doubted that I could be anything but a spectator.

I had learned how to act by watching. I had learned how to react to the Vicomte from observing his actions and reactions. Initially, I had been uncertain of how to react with Raoul, but then, talking to him, it had felt as though my own pretenses were falling as his had. I had been wary of Raoul, but in the end, I could only think of him as Raoul.

I could only think of him as he was alone in that room and alone with me. Were they the same? Then I realized that maybe being alone and being with me was not synonymous. Rather, I had been present at times when he was at his weakest. Alone, he had let all his masks drop, and I had simply caught him off guard after he had that argument with Christine. His masks had all fallen because of those events. It had all just been happenstance that I had seen Raoul and not just the mask of the Vicomte.

On that mezzanine, I had confronted him, pushed him to his limits, and then had threatened to kill him. Yet, his reaction to me did not change. He had not been afraid; at least, not the all-encompassing fear that I was accustomed to. He almost seemed calm the moments I had not been cruel to him; moments when we had shared silence. He had even laughed in my presence. It was a laugh of joy, shared with me. The only laughs of joy that I had heard were with those who knew not of my presence. It was different with Raoul though. He had been at ease, but I could blame it all on youthful exuberance. He was a boy and could not fully understand the situation.

However, although he was a boy, there was something more. There had been that darkness that I could not place. Not just any darkness, but a familiar one that called out to me. There was something that Raoul was hiding, and it was that darkness that made me doubt he had lived such a carefree life.

_Not again._

Those words were also helping the creeping suspicion. It was hard to ignore.

When I had felt the unnatural warmth spreading to my abdomen, I had been surprised. It felt damp and when I had looked down, even in the dim lighting and my red death costume, I immediately knew it was blood.

Blood was soaking my shirt. My feet sped up before my mind could really fathom what was occurring. It seemed out of place, this blood. In the back of my mind, some doubts had remained. I had thought that maybe Raoul was simply suffering from a stomach pains or from bruising obtained in some accident. The way his blood spread was alarming. It meant that something serious had occurred and with those words still in mind, I could not convince myself that Raoul had simply fallen off a horse.

_Not again._

What had happened?

I could not stop just yet. The cold from these tunnels may have a worse effect on him than waiting a few more minutes while I raced home. However, it felt as though this trip to my home was the longest it had ever been.

I did not want to think about how worried I was beginning to feel. The frustration I had felt earlier was returning. It was no longer directed at Raoul though, that feeling had long since died... I winced at the choice of words. I glanced down at the Vicomte. No, at Raoul. He was still unconscious, and his breathing was labored. His skin looked rather pale in the dim lighting.

Died.

People had died by these hands. By my hands. Yet this was the first time that this blood was not originally the result of my hands. It would be the first time that I accidentally killed someone.

Certainly, I had hit him, but I had not imagined he would begin to bleed. I had not cut him open. I had simply incapacitated him for my own safety. He had been wielding a sword. It was a stupid excuse considering the fact that I knew that Raoul would not attempt to harm me. I had known that Raoul had been in no position to hurt anyone. In fact, I had been surprised he had stayed on his feet for such a lengthy duration.

He had been obsessed with the ring though, and I could admit that I had been obsessed with him. He had been chasing the ring that I had safely stashed in the tunnel behind the trap into which Raoul had fallen. I had to discover why. That was the least important question on my mind though right now. The first and obviously foremost was the blood.

This blood that should not haunt me. However, I feared that it would. I feared that if Raoul died, his death would haunt me more than the deaths of the others I had killed.

A life for a life.

Living by those words might have simply been an easy escape for me. I believed them. I had killed that carnie for the sake of my own life. I had killed Bouquet once again for my own life. He was a fool who did not know how to hold his tongue. I had never tried to justify the murders. A life for a life was all the justification I needed. I was a murderer. That was who this monster was.

I felt my mind rebel at the thought.

I had to remind myself that I was this monster for the sake of no longer having to be him. The monster's destruction was my ultimate goal. It would not be self-destruction because I knew that I was more than just the monster. I had to be more than just a hideous disfigurement. This current situation had reinforced that belief.

Yet, I still did not understand what was driving me forward. Emotions had reasons, but I did not know my own. I did not understand why I… why I cared. He did remind me greatly of my past self. That was probably it. Maybe by saving him, I could erase my past. Maybe I could let those demons rest.

I had never felt the urge to help someone else though.

No one had ever deserved my pity.

Did Raoul really deserve it though?

I let out a sigh of relief upon reaching my home.

I quickly laid him down on my bed. Raoul showed no signs of waking any time soon. I panicked when I realized I could no longer hear Raoul's laboured breaths. I leaned forward to check if he was still breathing and tried not to think about how relieved I was when I was certain Raoul was alive. His breathing was shallow.

I pulled off my own shirt disturbed with the way the blood clung to my stomach. I wiped my hands on the only clean portion of the shirt to remove some of the blood that stained my hands and threw it to the side. I pulled off the red death mask and quickly put on the porcelain one that was bedside. It was disturbing to be dressed as death when I did not want him to die.

I gently lifted him up. Undressing Raoul was a little difficult. He was dead weight and holding him up while trying to remove his shirt seemed almost impossible. His costume had been ruined. A prince, huh? The prince was being saved by the beast.

I finally got his shirt off and laid him back down. Standing up to grab a clean shirt, I tossed Raoul's soiled one to the side. Looking back at him, I floundered. My body froze in shock. There was indeed a stab wound. The edges looked staggered, almost as if he had been stabbed twice. It did not look life threatening, but it still looked relatively new. It was without a doubt the source of all the blood.

It had not been the stab wound that made me pause though. The blood had been my main focus, but now looking past the blood, I saw much more. It was the other wounds that littered his body, a body that looked too thin, too worn, and too delicate. He looked as though he had not had a good meal in a very long time. His ribs jutted out unnaturally. Wounds covered almost every part of his torso and arms. Wounds that looked fairly new and just healed. Angry red scars glared from beneath them, and then there were the bruises. Raoul's skin was plagued with patches of sickly colours of yellows and purples.

I stepped forward uncertainly. I could not seem to bring myself closer, but I could not seem to look away.

I managed to tear my eyes away from his body down to the shirt in my hands. I wondered why my hands were clenched so tightly. My knuckles had turned white and I was shaking. Why did my chest hurt? Maybe it was just because of the past, my past. It was rearing its ugly presence back into my life.

What had happened to him?

These wounds were obviously the reason Raoul had been missing for a month, but what exactly had happened to him? These did not look like wounds from a battle. No sword battle would produce wounds like this. So, if it had not been a sword fight, Raoul would have had to fight not a noble, but some street urchin. Yet the wounds still did not fit. There was one situation I knew to fit. It was a situation I knew all too well, and I could not ignore its possibility. These wounds looked like they were the result of torture.

The word rang uneasily in my head. In this society, torture was still practiced?

I suddenly realized the wound would not heal itself. I could think of the implications of that train of thought later. Right now, I had to stop the bleeding. I looked at the shirt in my hands and realized this would do no good. I would have to find some bandages. I turned around scanning my home. I had none. I was getting flustered and I hated the feeling. I had to do something.

I grabbed a bottle of alcohol and walked closer to him. Tearing the shirt into strips, I poured some alcohol onto it and began cleaning his wounds. Focusing on the stab wound, I tried to ignore the other scratches and scrapes that were present. I tried to focus on the stab wound but my eyes could not help but notice all the discoloration. There was not enough material. I added pressure against the wound and was pleased to see that the blood was slowing to a stop. However, Raoul had yet to even stir. He was still breathing, but I had thought that the cleaning process and the pressure upon his wound would wake him. It was better that he was unconscious but what if it meant something was amiss? What if it meant that something worse was wrong with him?

I stared at the blood on my hands. Again, I thought that this was not entirely new. I was no innocent that had never seen blood on his hands. The thought would never leave me. I was a murderer.

A life for a life.

This was the only time though that I began to doubt that belief. Whose life would the death of Raoul preserve? I knew torture. I never tortured my victims. I mentally taunted those that crossed my paths, but that was simply to keep them away. It was to keep them complacent. It was so that I never had to touch anyone unnecessarily.

Touching others had always felt unnatural. It made me uneasy. I flinched. I recoiled. They were remnants of the beatings I used to receive. However, one month ago I remembered actively touching Raoul. I remembered trying to fight the urge to do so and failing. I had blamed it on the obsession with his reactions. They had intrigued me. With Christine, it had been different. I had touched her. I had seduced her with my song, but I had not thought she would remember any of it. I had not worried about her reaction since she had been lost in my song. No, Raoul had been lucid. I had not cared about touching him. In fact, I had not been worried about his reaction because that was precisely what I wanted to discover. I had only done so probably because he was still such a boy. I did not think any of his responses would have hurt me.

A boy… I could not believe my own stupidity. The way some of these scars looked made me think that Raoul had not been a boy for a very long time. Old scars faded to white lines were visible on the few portions of skin that had not received any new injuries. This was not the life I had ever thought a nobleman would lead. This almost made me sick. I had been tortured and beaten myself. And, here I was angered for some unknown reason with the fact that I was certain that Raoul had more scars on his body than I did. More scars than I had. I had never thought it possible. I did not know where this anger was directed, but I knew one thing.

This blood that stained my hands was not supposed to be there. I had not even planned on killing him. I was actually trying to save someone. It was a first in my life. There had been many firsts in my life with Raoul: my first polite conversation, my first kind laugh, my first compassionate feeling, and now this, my first act of desperation for a life that was not my own.

Holding the material against his wound was only a temporary solution though. I would have to obtain some bandages from above. Until then, I would have to wrap him to stop the blood while I left. Taking some of the strips of material, I began to wrap Raoul's abdomen. I started to turn him onto his side so that I could move the material around him when I stopped abruptly once more.

His back.

I had forgotten all about his back. The curiosity had been great at that time, but I had managed to contain myself. It seemed so long ago. I had not known what to expect from his strong reaction back then, but I knew this had not been it. I could now understand why he would not want to lean on his back. Hadn't I thought that he would never understand what I had gone through? Didn't I believe that he had been pampered as a child?

The welts that littered Raoul's back made me wince. There were new cuts and bruises that were still healing, but it was the older ones that were beneath them that made me unconsciously tighten my grip on his arm. It was obvious that they had not healed properly due to not receiving the proper attention. I grazed my fingers over the welts, tentatively. They were raised and firm. These were old scars. Scars that would probably never fade. I realized that these looked like disciplinary wounds. No wonder he had listened to me immediately when I gave him that order to breathe.

I touched them again, this time with a little more pressure. I was confused for a moment when my fingers felt something sharp. Not enough to cut me, but it made me pause. I carefully turned Raoul so that he was on his stomach and took a closer look.

There were porcelain pieces imbedded in his back. The skin had healed over them.

I felt the anger building again. I felt so frustrated. I wanted to do something, but what? I wanted to scream and hurt something. I wanted to hurt someone badly. Not just anyone though. I felt murderous intent towards whoever had done this to Raoul.

Not because it was Raoul, I reasoned, but because I hated people who tortured others so badly. It was not for justice that I was fighting. It was not to save the weak and innocent. It was to get revenge for the many times I had been hurt and was not able to obtain my retribution. I felt this way _only _because I wanted to retaliate for every unpleasant memory I had experienced. There was no other reason.

My vengeance would have to wait though. I finished wrapping Raoul's abdomen and let him sleep on his side. I pulled extra blankets out and placed them on him before leaving to find Madame Giry. Grabbing a shirt, I pulled it on.

Madame Giry would be my only recourse. She would have supplies and I knew she would let me have them.

I found her alone walking through the hallway from the girls' dormitory. Making my presence known, she nodded almost imperceptibly and walked quickly to her room. At least she was discrete.

Entering her room, I bowed quickly, "I need some bandages. Many bandages."

She looked at me strangely, but she moved around the room gathering what medical supplies she had. She looked me once over.

"I'm not injured."

She raised an eyebrow at me, "I had deduced that. How is the Vicomte doing?"

I glared at her. I was not in the mood to have small talk. I did not have time to waste, "He has seen better days."

"Indeed," she said vaguely.

I felt defensive. Not every injury was my fault. A vast majority was but in this case, it was not. The assumption just did not sit well with me. I would not defend myself though.

Seeing my annoyance, Madame Giry quickly bundled up the large quantity of gauze and cloth and handed it to me.

I turned to leave, but before I left Madame Giry said, "The Comte is in the building. I would check on Christine."

I glanced over my shoulder quickly before leaving.

I paused. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him what I had to," she responded grimly.

Those words meant that the she had told him my origins. She had told him what had made me become a monster. It was a betrayal, yet I felt no urge to kill her. Too much blood had been spilt this night. So much that even I had somehow reached my limit. My lust for blood had been gorged. She looked resigned to death though. I would have once found it amusing, but could find no such emotion.

"He wants to kill you Monsieur."

I nodded and left. Who did not want to kill me? That list had been short to begin with, while it seemed the list of potential adversaries increased daily. If I was not careful, the list of those who did not want to kill me may be less one person.

However, Madame Giry's words made me walk away from my home and towards Christine's room. I was torn, but old worries were difficult to ignore.

I should check on Christine? What did Madame Giry know?

I arrived behind the mirror of Christine's room and was pleased to see that she was alone. She was very agitated, which was another thing I was pleased to see. She should not be happy. She should be worried. Raoul was missing and in fact, he was almost dying. He had lost a lot of blood and had yet to wake up. She should be in pain as well.

This was all wrong though. This was not going as I had initially planned. I should not have stolen the ring from her. She was not supposed to be afraid of my opera. Don Juan Triumphant was our play. It was meant to bring us together, not tear us apart.

Still, my concern for her was nothing.

I realized that I was glaring at her. In truth, I did not care. She had mistreated Raoul. She had dragged him all around the place and probably had made him stretch his wound. Not only that, she had purposefully hid from him which had further aggravated his wounds. I gave her a parting glare and was about to leave when someone entered the room.

The Comte. It had to be.

He looked much older than Raoul though. I could see Raoul growing up to look something like him. However, he had none of the softness of Raoul. His blonde hair was short and his face was stern. There was none of the innocence that Raoul seemed to radiate no matter how he tried otherwise.

I immediately disliked him.

He had an expression of concern. Instinct told me otherwise though. I could not say that his mask was flawed because I could almost believe that he was truly concerned. However, what I knew told me otherwise. It had been the Comte's name that had been spoken so often when Raoul had been missing. It had been the Comte that had sent the message that had taken Raoul away from the opera house that day. It had been the Comte who had taken care of the business of the opera house while the "Vicomte had been on vacation." It had been the Comte that had kept visiting Christine.

No, this man was not concerned. He had to know what had been occurring with Raoul. He simply could not have been left unaware.

He cleared his throat and Christine finally saw him.

I frowned when she ran into his arms, sobbing loudly. What _had_ happened between them when I had been writing my opera? Was she so fickle that she found another suitor already? And Raoul's brother no less. She was indeed searching to marry well. She was searching to marry for money, for title, for prestige. I found myself questioning whether she would ever love me; if she even could.

The Comte smiled. He _smiled_. The man was already angering me. He must have wanted this to happen. The Comte had his own motives.

"It's horrible. Just horrible." She wailed.

He shushed her. I wondered if that sound had really come from her. She had always sounded like an angel to me. She had always been an angel. Had something changed?

Now, I was not sure for what reason she was exactly upset. She was crying too loudly and too much. She could not be that worried that I had made demands of them for my opera to be performed. It was a common occurrence for my wishes to be fulfilled. She had never reacted so adversely before. It had to be that she was upset for another reason. She had not seemed upset to me at all when Raoul had broken off the engagement. In fact, if I had been correct, she had already found another dance partner. She had only seemed infuriated. What was she so distressed about now?

The Comte led her to her bed and sat down beside her.

His voice was soft when he said, "Tell me what happened."

Though his voice was gentle, it was in the way he spoke that spoke volumes. He was arrogant. He expected her to follow his command. He had not asked her what had happened. He had demanded to know. No tone of voice could hide that fact.

"You were right," Christine began, "All this time you were right. Raoul is nothing but a little boy. A fickle little boy."

Her face had been leaning on his shoulder, so she missed the smirk that was on his face.

Reading the Comte was a little difficult, but I was particularly looking for these facial expressions. I could not feel at ease around him and I needed to know what exactly he was planning. I needed to know if I was simply being paranoid.

"I didn't believe you at first," at this she looked up, and his look changed to sympathetic. He was acting. I was certain now. Whatever emotion he was showing was contrary to what he was feeling. Christine continued, seemingly satisfied with the look, "I didn't think that he would be so petty, but just like you were telling me before, he's nothing but a philanderer."

I almost laughed aloud. Raoul, a philanderer? He was loyal almost to a fault. He had threatened me of all people because he had cared for her. He had promised her everything she ever desired. He was the philanderer?

Now, I knew what the Comte had been doing visiting Christine so often. He had been trying to separate them. He had been trying to poison her mind into believing that Raoul was not the one for her. I doubted that even if all the Comte had said was true, Christine would still marry him. She had not chosen him because of love. She had not chosen him because of his devotion. She had chosen him for his money and title.

I could change her though. I could make her see that her search for wealth was nothing to what true love was. I kept telling myself that at least. I knew she was opportunistic. I knew it, but I could hope for no one else. I had chosen her over solitude, and I would remain with that choice.

She began to weep once more, and I felt the stirrings of frustration. She was overdoing it. I was certain that even the Comte knew she was faking.

I could not fight the feeling of disgust. She was indeed a little lying Delilah, the viper that I had called her before. She had been perversely fascinated with my looks. She had shied away but had realized her mistake. She had realized that she still needed me. Therein laid the problem. She no longer needed me. She no longer needed my tutelage. She believed she was already good. She believed that she could sing perfectly. That was not entirely true. She had always been able to sing well, but it was passion that she lacked. She could reach notes and her tones were clear enough to astound almost every opera visitor. However, to those not blinded by her good looks would realize that though she had the correct expressions, gestures, and tone, she lacked the depth. She lacked the true passion. Even as she cried, it seemed a parody of the real emotion.

"So, what exactly did happen?" he prompted.

Christine leaned back and composed herself. She turned off sorrow so easily. "During the masquerade, I approached him and was trying to get him to dance. He refused and suddenly, he says that we should break the engagement off."

Observing the Comte, I was sickened to realize that they were the same. The Comte just like Christine held nothing within him. He had forced himself to look surprised. A parody of emotions. I had never felt so revolted with masks in my life.

She nodded fervently and added in pure disbelief, "And then the gall of him to ask when I was running away to try to contain my sadness if he could have the ring back."

It _had_ been a shock that he had asked for the ring. I expected the Comte to look shocked, but instead, he looked more smug than shocked. Could _he _have been the reason Raoul so badly had wanted the ring? I could understand the fact that the Comte did not want Raoul to marry Christine because she did not have the proper stature. Their marriage would have been the gossip of the entire town. The Chagny name would have been blemished, but what power did the Comte have over Raoul? Could he have actually harmed his own brother?

I ignored Christine. She was going to give me a headache. She was going to make me despise her more – if that were even possible.

I focused on the Comte. I focused on the thought that maybe I had indeed found Raoul's torturer. I could not be certain though.

"Then I remembered about what you said about him," She looked at him with doe eyes. She had always liked to look at herself in the mirrors. It had been to my benefit before because I had also liked to look at her, but now, I could not help but feel she was too conceited. She continued, "I remember how you said that he had done this before: asking for a girl's hand in marriage and changing his mind the last moment. I remember that you said the others were able to keep their rings and that I should too. So I refused."

The Comte had the daring to grin.

I shut my eyes and punched the concrete wall. Letting out a shaky breath, I opened my eyes slowly. Focusing on the floor, I felt like punching the wall again. The Comte was indeed cruel enough to have been the one to hurt Raoul. He was playing both Raoul and Christine. I had a suspicion that Christine knew it and was playing along for her own reasons, but I wondered if she knew to what extent, Raoul was being broken.

These two were so full of deceit that I wondered if they understood that the games they were playing would all come to an end. Their masks would be found out and their lives broken. I hoped I would watch their descent. I hoped they would join me in hell.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed just a bit. She turned into his arms and hugged him.

I could not bring myself to care. I could not bring myself to be angered that she was being so loose with the Comte. How could I ever hope that she would look past my masks if she would never look past her own? How could I have ever thought that she was the one? It had stopped being the belief that she was the one though. It had all become the fact that there was no one else.

"I tried to warn you," he said mournfully, "I was only looking out for you. He's still such a boy. He doesn't know anything about sadness and pain. What he does to people is so horrible."

I felt myself scoff at his words. Unfortunately, they were words I knew all too well. It was a sentiment of which I had been convinced not too long ago. Christine nodded.

She continued her version of the evening, "Then later on, the Opera Ghost ruins the masquerade. He comes and threatens us all and gives us an opera that he had written."

She sighed and I wondered why she had done so. It was a sound of which I was familiar. She sighed whenever she thought I was listening. She sighed in hopes that I would speak to her and find a way to make her smile. I had done so many times in the past. She would sigh and I would run to her beck and call. It was a sigh that had began her singing lessons. It was a sigh that had made me believe that I was the only she needed. It was a sigh that made me believe she would want me. I had done so many things for her. I had tried to give her everything she desired. I was fool. I was still a fool. Why she would sigh right now was confusing. Did she still want me to believe I was anything but a pawn for her?

She continued her story and the Comte continued to look concerned and nod in the right places, "He grabbed the ring from my neck and exited through a trap door in the floor. Raoul ran after him, and that was the last I have heard of him since. Madame Giry says to be wary because he has been taken."

"Yes," he replied somberly, "we must all be careful. Especially you. We wouldn't want to let poor little Raoul's sacrifice go to waste."

He was clearly mocking Raoul. Still, Christine said nothing.

She nodded and put on a brave face. She looked at him pleadingly. I knew that she would reveal her ulterior motives, "You will help the opera house now that Raoul's gone missing, won't you?"

The Comte smirked. He understood what she was trying to do. He did not seem to mind though. I presumed it was either because the Comte was not as devious as he seemed or her motives were a part of his plan. I figured that it was the latter. I, on the other hand, was angry that she did not even pretend to worry about Raoul, had they not been childhood friends?

"Of course, I must find my baby brother. Nothing is more important than family and loyalty."

The words as he spoke them seemed so empty.

Christine further clung to him. I grit my teeth. I reminded myself that I loved her. "My heart hurts terribly so. I do not know what to do."

She swooned precariously away from his shoulder, and I wished she would fall. Instead, he steadied her and turned her to face him.

"They say the only way to cure heartache is to find a new love to soothe the pain," I strained to hear him say as he leaned closer to her.

She did not look confused. She did not even pretend to be confused. She had wanted this to happen. She probably wanted the same thing from him as she had wanted from Raoul. She wanted security, stability, and a title. However, it seemed that he also wanted something from her, and he would use her.

He leaned forward. I pressed closer to the glass holding myself back from just tearing it down. I did not want to disturb them. It was fascinating in an unsettling manner the way they acted. There was no kind emotion shared between them, no affection. They stared at each other as predators.

He kissed her brutally. He kissed her in a way that seemed more intent to hurt than to cause pleasure. Though it saddened me, I was not surprised to see that she returned in suit with fervor. She was no blushing virgin. I had known that. After her first leading role, she had many suitors. I could not watch her all the time and though she hid them well, I knew that they had existed. She was smart enough never to invite them into her room.

That kiss was no promise of love. It was a challenge. They were fighting for dominance.

She smirked when the kiss was through and he leered back.

Something in me shattered. They were the same people with the same personalities. They were made for each other. Maybe they were too similar, but I could see how their confrontation had aroused them. I could not love her. It was one thing to lie to myself. I could ignore her behaviour when it had been subtle. I could ignore it when I let myself believe that I was assuming too much.

But, when the kiss ended, there were no more lies. Both individuals in that room dropped all their masks. I could see the deceit and cunning clearly in them. Christine had dropped her mask for that man. I hated him all the more for it. In truth though, it only solidified the fear that had been within me all this time. I could never love that woman and she would never love me. There was no love in her for anyone but herself. I could not ignore it when she showed it so plainly.

Both of them were… I was at a loss of words.

Then the moment was gone. She smiled softly and turned coyly away, "You should go now. The others will probably check in soon. They would worry that I had been stolen by the Opera Ghost."

He stood up and smiled in a gentlemanly manner. Bowing to her, he replied, "Of course, and be safe while I try to figure this out."

I left immediately.

I had left Raoul alone for far too long. I had let myself become distracted. I had let myself see too much.

I suddenly knew the words that had been in my mind.

Both of them, they were monsters that hid beneath civil masks.

Another first happened that night, I suddenly feared for my life. Christine joining the Comte would only spell disaster for me. She knew where I lived and she had means to get to me. I could set up defenses, and I knew that I would put up a valiant fight. However, even as I did not play fair, it was odd to think that even as I had limitations to what I would do, I did not think that those two did. I was certain that they would stop at nothing to obtain what they desired. I was at a disadvantage since I did not know what that was.

However, they did not know what I desired. In fact, I did not know what I desired. There was only one thing clear to me at this moment. I did not want Christine.

I finally reached my home and saw that Raoul had not moved since I left him.

Moving to his side, I let all the worries slip away. I focused on the one question that may clear my mind. I wondered what I was doing. Why was I doing this? Curiousity. Obsession. Sympathy. I did not have sympathy though. I had asked thought to myself earlier, _was there anyone who deserved my pity?_

I unwrapped the bandages and laid Raoul on his stomach again. Taking out my knife, I began to take the porcelain pieces out one by one. There's many and I had to cut open the wounds just to remove them. It was tedious work and would have caused him much pain if he had been conscious.

When everything was done, I cleaned his wounds and rebandaged them. I removed the rest of his clothing only to see that he had wounds and scars on his legs as well. I left him to get a cloth and to fill up a bucket from the lake. It would be cold but he needed something other than alcohol with which to be cleaned. While I was cleaning his body, my mind was blissfully empty. I did not want to think of the why's anymore. I did not want to think of what was to happen now. I only knew that I had to clean him. However, my mind was making a mental diagram of every wound and every scar I saw. There were many to note.

I picked up his hands only to pause again. Like his back, there were pieces of porcelain embedded in his palm. I sighed and pulled out my knife once more. I was glad that Madame Giry had given me a large amount of bandaging material. I had thought it had been excessive at first, but now I saw that it was barely enough. I pulled out the porcelain pieces and noticed the dark bruising around his right wrist. He had been shackled. I had noticed some light bruising around his right ankle, but they blended with the other bruises that he had so I thought nothing of it. However, this bruise had not healed very well. There was a scar on his wrist, which had slowed the healing so that it was obvious he had been restrained. I forced myself to slowly breathe out. My anger would only harm him more.

I bandaged his hands and finished cleaning him.

I pulled his hair out of the tie and looked at him. I just looked at him for a moment suddenly unsure of everything I had hoped to be. Some part of me had always compared the Vicomte with myself. It was inevitable since in the beginning, it had seemed as though Christine had chosen him because he had something that I lacked. It was easy to believe. The Vicomte had been charming, handsome, and kind. He was everything I was not. I had hoped that some part of me contained the same virtues.

Now though, I could see what society did to those with such virtues. Such people slowly died. I would not die. I had more vices than virtues and it would seem that they had kept me alive. However, there was still that part of me that did not want the Vicomte, did not want Raoul to lose this battle.

Pulling up the blanket, I checked his temperature. He was a little warm, but nothing too dangerous.

I pulled up a seat at bedside and sat down. I watched him. There were so many unanswered questions. Unfortunately, there were some that had been answered as well.

How could I have been so wrong about a person? How could I have watched this boy for so long now and still know nothing about him?

I wondered why the hell Raoul had been up and moving at all. It was probably because of my ultimatum. However, I figured that the Comte played a larger role in Raoul's newly obsessive nature.

I reached forward. I had spent this night touching someone so freely. The familiar need to recoil had not once bothered me. It could not. My hands had helped someone. _I_ had helped someone. What was it about Raoul that made my masks fall? I had been a monster. I had never been anything but one to others. Now, I was not. I had dropped my mask.

I brushed aside the hair that I had admitted myself to liking. I did not know what this feeling was. It reminded me of the rooftop. It reminded me of clarity and of calmness. I should not be calm though. I had given up on Christine. I had finally let myself choose to be alone. There was no one else. Or was there?

The moment he had walked in through the door, my attention had been caught. Had it been simply because of the unanswered questions? So many things that I felt I had a right to know. He had almost broken his word to me. I knew that should have meant nothing to me, but I had believed him. I had believed him when he said that he would break his engagement with Christine. I had thought myself to be a fool and this boy almost made it so.

But…

But he had kept his word. He had broken the engagement.

He had been nothing but forthright and honest.

I had wondered if there was anyone who deserved my pity. This boy did.

Raoul, somehow in this one day, had become mine to protect.

o.o.o.o

End ch14

word count: 8,490

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Erik has made a complete U-turn.

But will Raoul be brave enough to return the affection? (He's such damaged goods. We don't know.)


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Warning: Character death.

Warning(s): violence, character death (I don't know if I should apologize for not putting this up in the beginning, but I just had to tell you this now. It's going to happen to someone and I hope this won't turn you off from reading the rest of the story (heck, you came this far). Push on, I swear it only gets better.)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note:

Everything's set now. And, if you don't read the warnings or the revised summary of the story, it's been decided that someone's going to die. It's going to suck so much… well, that someone dies, but I think the story's better because of it. Like I said in the warning: I hope I don't lose any of you because of the character death. I'm telling you the story can only get better from here on out, and I'm writing a lot more (this is more like an A/N than a story note, so I'll stop now).  
Oh, and there's going to be 23 chapters, not counting the epilogue because that's just fake closure.  
But now you're wondering, who's going to die. There's the usual suspects. You'll just have to keep reading to find out. It's not happening in this chapter, but I thought you should know.

Chapter note:

This is the misunderstanding chapter. I know you hate these chapters because I do too, but there are some nice parts though and some parts that seem slow but are necessary to set the mood. If it makes you feel better, Chapter 17 has almost too much going on in it. XX

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 15

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time (had been Philippe's POV; Raoul was unconscious):

Mother shook her head affectionately, "You have always been fond of games. You be careful now though."

I looked at her in mock astonishment, "I am always serious. I know of no such games."

Laughing, she responded, "You have always had a penchant for games. Raoul was just never strong enough to take it."

I smiled at her. At least, I had her approval. Now, I would have to set everything in motion.

o.o.o

Raoul's POV

I woke up slowly and reveled in the heavy feel of my body. It was the most relaxed I would feel all day and I did not want to lose that feeling already. Going back to sleep sounded like a very good idea. However, my left hand was going numb. I tried to make my body listen to me long enough so that I could turn over to my other side, but I did not have enough strength to. I settled for sleeping on that side since I generally avoided sleeping on my back. Sleep was already calling me back so I ignored the numbness and dozed off.

I half awoke a little while later when I thought I felt something shift. However, getting up did not seem to be a viable option. My body felt weak and sore. I pulled the blanket up higher and tried to hug the pillow that was beneath my head but moving only caused me pain. I slowly managed to curl myself up in a fetal position. The stinging sensation dulled long enough for me to let the warmth of my bed lull me back to sleep. I did not want to wake just yet because then I would have to think about everything. Unlike right now, when I did not think my brain was working at all. Sleep. That was all I wanted. I let my mind drift.

I felt a wave of déjà vu. I was not awake enough to really understand why, but I could almost hear a knock on my door and my mother calling to me.

I ignored it in favor of the warmth. After a while though, it was almost too hot. I whimpered. The heat was not entirely uncomfortable but the heat compounded with the fact that it felt as though I had too many blankets on me was almost suffocating. I struggled to push the blanket down but every time I thought I made progress, the blankets would be firmly covering me. I whimpered again when my movements suddenly hurt.

I calmed down when I felt a cool hand on my forehead. It felt nice. It was a perfect offset to the warmth.

I reached up and grabbed the hand with both of my own curling my body toward it. I pressed the coolness to my cheek. Yes, now everything was perfect. I hugged the arm that I had trapped and let myself relax.

I was drifting back to sleep when I felt the arm I was hugging pulling away. I held on tighter. Someone cleared their throat. I struggled then to wake up but my whole body was still asleep.

I opened my eyes just barely to stare at the hand that was still in my possession. It was a man's hand with rough and calloused but long fingers… a musician's hand. Following up the arm, I dreaded what I would see. My mind was slow to waking and the pieces of the last month were barely falling into place as I became more aware of the pain shooting through my body. I stopped my eye's journey at the shoulder and closing my eyes, I let go of the Phantom's hand.

Maybe I was still dreaming. However, I was too awake now for me to even believe I could still be asleep. My racing heart and the pain in my side were glaring indicators that I was indeed awake.

What was I doing here? All I remembered was chasing him. Then, he had attacked me. How could I have been so weak? I had passed out. Madame Giry should have found me, but he had obviously taken me.

"Are you still sleepy?"

He sounded calm. He did not sound like he wanted to injure me further, but I could not take any more chances. I would not be able to struggle against him in my condition. Would he even hurt me though? He had asked if I was sleepy. That did not sound like a dangerous question.

I took a moment to think about it. _Was_ I still sleepy? My body still ached but my mind was completely alert by now. I would not be able to sleep fall asleep so easily. That was odd. I had been exhausted this morning. No amount of sleep had seemed to help yesterday, but now I was fine? I wondered how long I had been asleep.

I did not open my eyes, but I slowly shook my head to answer his question. I could not look at him. I did not want to face whatever was to come just yet but I could not even turn to face the other way.

I wondered what he was planning to do to me. I was certain he knew I had already broken the engagement off. I thought we had somehow understood each other at the masquerade.

I did not want to think about that evening though. Had it been a few hours ago or yesterday already? All I knew was that I wished to never have another night like it. It had started out poorly simply because of the stab wound, but then there was that near panic attack, Christine's careless treatment with my wound, her slapping me and then having to chase her around the opera house. Then, the Phantom stole the ring.

The ring.

Philippe was going to be so mad that I did not get the ring. He probably would not believe that I had broken the engagement without it. I would be chained in the cellar once again. I hated the cellar. I hated that I could be a prisoner in my own home. I hated that place. It was not home. It was nothing but a cage.

Philippe would be so angry. He could not hold it against me that I had been captured trying to do what he wanted, could he? He would. Philippe was going to kill me.

Once the realization set in, my eyes fly open in horror.

"I thought you had fallen back asleep."

I finally looked at him. I had forgotten that he had even been there. What was I doing?

He met my eyes and held them. I felt myself calming down from his steady gaze. His eyes were blue. I had forgotten how clear they looked. I had forgotten how intense his gaze could be. I tore my eyes away. I had also forgotten that I could lose myself in his eyes. It was unnerving. It was unnerving to be so entranced by that shade of blue. More so, it was unnerving how exposed I felt. It was as though he could see my very thoughts.

I forgot all about the ring and Philippe. I had other things to worry about. However, that was the strange part. I was not as worried as I knew I should have been. He was a murderer. He had killed before. How could I forget that so easily? Yet, whenever I looked at him, I did not see the Opera Ghost or the Phantom. All I seemed to see was a man. He was no shadow in the darkness or the looming figure in the background. He was real. He was here.

I was in a bed with the Opera Ghost beside me. He was not acting like the terrorizing Opera Ghost, so I could not treat him as though he were. I glanced up at him sheepishly. I could not tell if he was angry, but he did not sound it. All I knew was that his anger was often the reason things went awry in the opera house. As long as he was not angry, I considered myself safe. I stared down at the bed and shook my head again. He could not have brought me to my estate. I doubted that he had taken a room in the opera house since the rooms that were non-dormitories were mostly used for storage. So, unless he had taken me outside of the opera house, I had to be in his bed.

I flushed for some reason. He had been kind to me once again. In truth, I did not know what to expect from him. He had attacked me. However, I _had_ chased after him and _had _been waving a sword at him after he had just laid claim to Christine in front of everyone. It was all for the ring though. I sighed. That was hardly a good reason.

There was not any way to really redeem myself from that night. I had not been thinking at the time I jumped into the trap. Honestly, I had not been thinking very much that entire night. I could not remember much. I only remembered that I needed to retrieve the ring. Though I should have, I had not been thinking about the Phantom very much. I was in his territory, yet I was worried more about Philippe who had not even been there. I guessed that to him it must have seemed as though I was trying to kill him. It was only natural to subdue opponents.

However, the thing you did not do was kidnap opponents, unless you were going to kill them. No, that was incorrect. Why kidnap when you can kill right away? Was he planning to torture me? I tried to subtly move away. No more. I could not stand any more pain. However, moving only hurt me further. I shifted the blankets around, pulling them tighter against me.

Something was off though. I slowly pulled my arm out from under the blankets and stared at it in puzzlement. I pulled out my other arm. They were bandaged. I peaked under the blankets and flushed a deeper red. I was naked. It looked like I had enough cloth on me to make a whole set of clothes, but I was very much naked in this bed.

I looked up at the Opera Ghost mortified and pulled the blanket tighter against me. I could swear that he was smiling, but it was difficult to tell. It did not matter. He was probably just laughing at me. He was probably amused that the arrogant Vicomte was really just worthless plain Raoul.

I fought the urge to pull the blanket above my head and instead settled for a focused glare at the edge of the bed. I wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. He knew. He knew how weak I was. He knew how ugly and dirty I was. It should not have mattered to me because we were nothing to each other, but it did. It mattered to me because no one else knew of my scars. No one else knew what memories lingered just beneath the layers of clothing I wore. No one else but Philippe, but he had been the one to give them to me. I had hoped that the one I could share these scars with would be _the one_. That person would be the one for whom I _could_ drop my masks, for whom I could just be myself, for whom I could be weak around without fear of judgment.

Frustrated, angry tears clung to the corner of my eyes. Tears that I was surprised existed but tears that would never fall. This was all wrong. This was the worst thing that could have happened. It was not fair. My life was not fair. Why did it have to be him? I could not bear to look up at him.

I had admired him. I had thought we could understand each other. I had hoped that we would be on good terms eventually. I had hoped to live vicariously through him when he married Christine.

Christine. He was going to have Christine. She loved him, did she not? She talked to mirrors and spoke fondly of him at times. They would live happily. He would find his happiness and I would be glad that someone like me would be able to live. But, although I knew we had some similar characteristics, we were not the same. I was so much worse. I was worthless.

Now, he would know just how different we were. He would see how where he had been strong, I had been weak; where he had triumphed over his adversaries, I had failed; where he had simply been born deformed through no fault of his own, I had been given each flaw through one painful experience after another through my own faults. I was pathetic.

I wondered how the Phantom would use this knowledge against me. We were no longer rivals though. He would not need to do anything to me. I hoped he would not.

All thought stopped when I saw from the corner of my eye the hand he had reclaimed reaching toward me.

I recoiled, flinching. He was probably going to chastise me. My heart beat painfully against my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. It was best to not tense up when being beaten because you had less of a chance to be injured that way, but I could not seem to relax. My wound protested against my response. However, nothing happened. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I swallowed nervously and let out a shaky breath.

I looked at the Phantom uncertainly. His hand had frozen in midair. I could not tell what he was thinking, but he apparently had not expected such a reaction from me. Was he angry or annoyed? Philippe would have punished me right away for such a reaction. He had seen the scars though. Did he not realize how I had gotten them?

I could not help but wonder what was wrong with me. I could usually suppress my flinches. I had learned to mask all the common reactions. I had learned to not flinch, to not tense, to not fight back. In short, I had learned to ignore my survival instinct. I had to. It was ironic but I simply could not have survived any other way since Philippe would only be incessant otherwise. I had not reacted this badly since I was a child. Yet here I was with the Phantom proving how weak I really was. Philippe had been right about me. I was useless.

I did not look at him for very long.

Part of me could not. I worried that maybe he was like Philippe and waited until you made eye contact before striking. Philippe had always said it was better when the person knew it was coming. You could gauge how strong a person was with how well he could receive pain. That however, did not mean Philippe would not hit a person unawares, if that afternoon so long ago were any indication.

Part of me did not want to. I did not want to look at him because I was ashamed of who I was. I was hideous. There was nothing worthwhile in me. Maybe, just maybe I deserved to be hit. I was not good enough. I was horrible as a Vicomte. I was horrible as a patron. I could barely be Raoul well enough and what good I did do was only because there was no one to compare to.

It was best to get it over with sooner than later though. I looked at him and he reached out to me again. Still, to my frustration, I could not suppress my flinch. He did not hit me though. He gently placed his hand against my forehead. This time I froze. I realized how soothing his touch really was. Somehow, his touch calmed me. Maybe it was simply the knowledge that he was not going to hit me, but I felt my muscles relaxing. My wound was glad for it. I looked away because I did not know what to think about my own reaction. I was so confused.

"Are you hot?" He pulled his hand away.

Suddenly, I was nervous once again. What if he had simply done that to make me complacent? Was the blow going to happen when I least expected it? Philippe had used that tactic before. He would not strike me only to make the actual hit a surprise.

I shook my head. I winced though. My side was hurting badly since I could not seem to relax.

He grabbed my chin firmly. I shut my eyes in fear. I could not pretend with him for some reason, and it scared me more than Philippe's wrath. I could not be the confident Vicomte. I could not be the attentive patron. I could not be the good son or the complacent brother. I could not be any of those things. And I did not understand why. I had lived role to role all my life. What was stopping me from doing so now? All I did know was that I could not be strong anymore. I could not pretend that it did not hurt when I was hit. I could not pretend to stare at my assailant with a straight face. I could not keep the screams within me. Not right now. Not with him. The wave of realization was frightening. My life depended on my ability to do all those things. I had only survived this long because of these traits. They were simply facets of the mask I wore. A mask that was indispensable.

It was the mask I wished never existed, so why was I fighting so hard to keep it now?

"Look at me."

Through sheer compulsion, I did so. I stared at him. I saw no mask though. The porcelain mask seemed to not exist when he was staring at me so intensely. He seemed angry. Angry was bad. Angry meant pain. I tried to pull my head away, but the motion only caused me to wince from pain.

"Stop moving, you'll only reopen the wound."

I shook my head. I was panicking. His touch was not calming this time. His grip was not so tight that it hurt, but it was restrictive. I knew I would not be able to get away. I knew I was trapped.

"Relax," he stared at me intently as though he were trying to make me stop moving from just his gaze, "I'm not planning on hurting you." He paused a moment to let the words sink in for me. I nodded shortly. "So, stop moving."

I relaxed. He said so himself that he was not going to hurt me. I believed him. I absolutely believed him.

He let me go and I looked down at the bed. How could I not believe him? He had yet to lie to me. He only seemed to test me. When we had last spoken, he had not harmed me. It seemed as though he was simply trying to expose everything about me. He had pushed me against the chair not to hit me, but to test my reaction. What was he thinking when he did such things? There were secrets that should be kept.

However… however, there were no more secrets. He had exposed them all. He had seen all my wounds. He had seemingly tended to all my wounds. I should thank him. I should say something, but my throat had closed. Someone else knew my shame. I took a deep breath and looked up at him.

He was just staring at me. I doubted that he had looked away at all. How long had he been staring at me?

"Thank you," I whispered. I lifted up my hands feebly and indicated the bandages. I looked away once again.

He leaned forward and I flinched again. I knew he was not going to hurt me, and yet my body would not believe it. My body was finally allowed to respond to such fears. My body was finally able to respond normally even though my mind said otherwise.

He did not hit me. Instead, he brushed some loose strands of hair behind my ear. I could feel my face heat up. What… why… why did he just do that? I had not realized that my hair had even been there.

Before I could think anymore on it, he leaned back and stated almost conversationally, "You have a lot of injuries," he paused to think for a moment, "and a lot of scars."

How was I supposed to respond to that? He probably wanted an explanation. I could not though. I could not tell him that I had let my brother, my own flesh and blood do this to me because I had always been a problem child. I could not tell him that I deserved these wounds because I was not as good as I should have been. I could not tell him that these wounds, these scars were reminders.

Scars. I knew all about scars. I knew how they stayed not physically but mentally and emotionally. They were ever-present. Some scars could fade from sight unlike others, but none of the ones I had received could ever fade from my mind. I could remember every scar that I had ever gotten and name why I had received it.

I could not tell him all of that, yet I could not bring myself to lie.

When I was still trying to think of what to say, he moved leaned forward and started to pull me up. I tried to help the process but I was confused. The Phantom took the pillow I had been laying on and stood it up. He leaned me against it.

"Will your back be okay with this?"

Still a little lost, I nodded. I noticed that his voice was strained though. He was suppressing some emotion. He was probably angry that I had not answered. Still, he had said that he would not hurt me, so I was not too worried yet.

"It's not as though I can sit any other way though," I said with a rueful smile, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. His jaw clenched and he stood up abruptly. I winced. That had not gone very well. Perhaps it was a bad joke on my part, but it was true. Maybe he was going to leave me here. However, he only went as far as a small table.

He returned with a tray of food. I had not realized that I was hungry until I saw the food. The pain in my side had distracted me from the hunger pangs. He placed it on my lap and sat down. I stared at the food gratefully. It was a meager setting of a piece of bread, some cheese, and various fruits. I did not know how to thank him. It looked as though the Phantom had brought together everything he had for me.

When I did not touch it, he said gruffly, "You're hungry, are you not?"

I nodded and picked up the piece of bread. I realized that he must be hungry as well. I broke the bread in half and offered it to the Phantom. He stared at me as though I had grown another head.

I said uncertainly, "I'd rather not eat alone."

My arm still outstretched, he stared at the piece of bread. He grabbed it, but did not begin eating until I took a bite out of mine. We ate in silence but I could not help but feel a little giddy. This whole scenario felt a little unreal. He was being so nice. He was treating me well and though I flinched every time he reached towards the plate, I found myself to be calm. I secretly watched him eat in fascination. It seemed so precise. All his motions seemed so efficient as though he did not have time to waste. He was so controlled.

He reached forward, not to the plate, but to me and wiped the side of my lip without explanation. I stayed stuck in that position for a moment. It was probably some food particle, but I could not stop my heart from racing.

It was different, the way he touched me. Philippe only touched to hurt me. My mother only touched when she felt it was expected. Even then, it was quick, cold, and efficient, like a peck on the cheek to make it seem like she was a loving mother. She loved me, but she simply had a hard time showing it. I understood. When Christine had touched me, it had been as though it were a pantomime. Everything about her felt as a pantomime.

_His_ touches though they were different. They were almost… reverent. More like caresses.

I coughed, choking on the piece of fruit I had been eating. What was I thinking? My face was warm and I could not seem to stop coughing. He grabbed my shoulders but seemed uncertain as to what to do.

"Are you okay?" He asked when I had finally stopped coughing.

I nodded vigorously. Now that I had thought _that_ about his touches, I could not think of anything else. He let go slowly, for which I was relieved. Offering me a drink, I smiled softly at him in thanks.

He took the cup and the now empty plate and set them down. Sitting on the edge of bed, he sat close enough so that we were touching. My heart beat faster still. He was staring off to the side when he asked, "Where did they come from?" He looked at me, and I did not know what to do. The concern that I thought I had seen earlier was gone. He looked like he was barely restraining himself again. He seemed furious. His shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. Yet I was not afraid. I did not think he would hurt me, but I could not understand why he was so angry.

What to answer though? I still could not reveal anything, but I still could not lie. Why did he have to look at me like that? He looked at me so calmly; I could almost believe he was not angry at all.

"What happened to you?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I shook my head. "Please don't ask me that. Please."

We stared at each other in a deadlock.

He finally nodded, "Okay, I won't." He paused and I thought that he had dropped the topic altogether. He continued though, "I won't ask _what_ if you tell me who."

He looked at me challengingly. I stared at him wide eyed. Why did he want to know? He would gain nothing from knowing who had hurt me. Maybe he was more worried that I would disappear again and the patronage of the opera house would be lost. Philippe had been here but maybe the Phantom knew that Philippe would not let the Opera Ghost run the Opera Populaire. That was probably it. The opera house was his home. He would be invested in who was the patron and he knew that he could obviously control me. I was nothing but a pawn. It seemed as though I could be nothing but a pawn.

The more important question then would be could I give up Philippe? Wouldn't it just make my situation worse? The Phantom would only fully understand my shame. He would only have more reason to despise me for my weakness, but looking at him, it seemed that I had no choice. He was not going to let this topic go. I sighed deeply. No one ever denied the Phantom's desires. I should have remembered that rule of the opera house. I should have remembered that I was no match for him. The Phantom was the real manager. The Phantom. Right now, he did not seem to me to be that villain. He was no spectre.

I had an idea, "I will tell you, but only if you tell me your name."

He seemed to waver but responded, "What if I have no name?"

"Then you shall receive none from me," I responded firmly.

He still looked reluctant, so I sat and just waited. At least he was not wondering about my scars anymore. I had nothing left to lose. I had lost all possibility of keeping some dignity the moment I had fallen into that trap. At least, this way I would know his name.

"A name for a name," he said aloud.

I nodded. He said nothing further and simply sat there. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders and with great care, pulled me until I was sitting upright.

"What?" I asked confused. He was doing it again. He could tell me what he was planning to do before moving me.

"I'm going to change your bandage," he replied.

"What?" What about his name?

"I said…"

I cut him off, "I heard you," I blushed realizing how abrupt I was being. "I thought you wanted to know about…" I let my sentence trail off.

He cocked his head to the side. I squirmed a bit at his close proximity. He had yet to release me. He had steadied me in a manner that could have been considered a loose embrace.

"I'm considering it," he replied simply.

I nodded dumbly. I had not been expecting that response, but then again, I could not think clearly when his hands kept touching me. I cursed my own brain for making me construe his touches as caresses. I was being presumptuous and I was certain it would only harm me.

He interrupted my thoughts when he asked, "Can you sit up without assistance?"

He released me just a bit and I tried to stay upright, but my wound screamed in protest. He must have realized because he was supporting me almost immediately.

"No," I replied more shakily than I would have liked, "I don't think I can."

We sat there for a moment without moving. I was still trying to calm down but with his arms around me, with his heat enveloping me, with his face so close I had to turn my face away, I simply could not. It wasn't possible. It felt as though I was drowning in him, and the scary thing was I did not mind. I did not mind it was him at all.

I had been searching for someone with whom I could share my secrets. He knew my secrets and I knew he could very well keep secrets himself. Although I had not divulged the information willingly, it had been done. I had been looking for a person with whom I didn't have to lie. I found myself unable to lie to him for what reason I could not actually determine. I had been looking for someone with whom I could drop my mask. I hadn't the strength to keep my mask on whenever I was with him.

This was it, wasn't it? The insight made me want to cry. This was for what I had been hoping, so why was it still all wrong? Maybe it was because we had been rivals. Maybe it was because I knew he wanted Christine so much. Maybe it was because I almost did not want to let myself believe it completely. But how could I fight it when I had been tiring in the struggle already?

I was certain that he was the one for whom I had been looking. He was _the one_. I was overjoyed and distraught at the same time. I already knew the outcome. I had known my life was not fair. I did not know why I had expected anything else. I may be able to be Raoul with him, but it did not mean he would be anything more to me. He hated me. He probably thought I was nothing but a pest. He was only helping me because I was the patron and I kept his opera house running. He was only doing this to get Christine. In fact, he was probably so in love with Christine that I was nothing but a hindrance.

I stopped ranting before I really did start to cry. I was so frustrated. The truth was that I did not know how he felt or how he would react, but I could not lose this without gaining something. It actually hurt to think about it now that I knew what was to occur. I had to at least enjoy what comfort I received from his presence right now. It could not be wrong of me to enjoy this.

He was having a hard time unraveling the bandages while having to hold me up. I saw this as an opportunity and wrapped my arms around his neck just tight enough to keep me upright. We were practically cheek-to-cheek. Though it had hurt to do so, I considered this pain well worth the effort.

He froze completely. I was glad that he could not see my face since I was blushing furiously. I was almost certain that he could feel the heat. I could not deny that it felt nice though. It may be the only time I ever hugged him and I would enjoy it. I offered rather lamely, "It's easier this way, right?"

He nodded his head and in doing so, our cheeks brushed against each other. My heart skipped a beat. He began unraveling the bandages once more without comment. He was probably repulsed but I could not help but think that happiness had to be being able to touch him. I did not know why I had not realized it when we had first spoken. All the signs had been there. I had been so comfortable in his presence. I had felt so at ease. Why couldn't I have realized this sooner? I tensed up and wished I hadn't.

I had been so distracted by his proximity and by my thoughts that it was only now that I realized exactly in how much pain I was. I let out a shaky breath.

He pulled my arm from behind his neck. "Lay down while I clean the wound."

I released my hold on him and leaned against the pillow tiredly. With half lidded eyes, I watched as he pulled out some alcohol and more bandages. The pain was overwhelming now that my focus was not elsewhere. I was starting to sweat from the pain. I focused solely on my breathing as he cleaned the wound. It did not look too bad. He lifted me up again and I immediately wrapped my arms around his neck. He began to rewrap the wound. It ached terribly; so much that I leaned my forehead against his shoulder without a second thought.

"Erik," he suddenly said.

Having only spoken orders to me so far, I was confused. I repeated slowly, "Erik?"

He replied evenly, "Yes, Erik."

I realized what he had given me. He had given me his name. I was able to forget about the pain as I thought about this development. I liked the name. It seemed to fit him. His hands were still deftly moving around my waist and I was certain that it was still painful, but he had given me his name. I wondered how many people knew it. I doubted many. It was nice to think that I was special, but then again, it may just be my imagination once more.

He finished bandaging while I was still musing. I was grinning madly as he leaned me back against the pillow. He looked at me in what I would have considered an amused expression.

"Erik," I said merrily.

He shook his head. "No," he said lightly, "that would be my name. You were going to tell me the name of who had done this to you."

"Erik," I repeated.

He raised an eyebrow but did not respond otherwise. I liked the name very much. However, I frowned when I realized that Erik was correct. I had to uphold my portion of the deal. I looked down at my hands avoiding his gaze.

"Philippe," I said considerably more somber.

When he did not say anything, I looked up. He was angry again.

"The Comte," he spat out. I nodded slowly.

He was about to stand up when I grabbed his hand. His momentum pulled me forward and I gasped in pain. In an instant, he seemed to have lost his anger.

He still spoke restrainedly, "What do you think you're doing?"

"You," I was not sure why I thought he would harm Philippe, but seeing his anger, I realized that it was not directed at me. It was directed at Philippe, "you aren't going to do anything are you?"

His eyes narrowed. He looked towards what I assumed to be an exit of his home and then back at me. He sat back down and stated firmly, "You aren't leaving."

He had to stop doing this to me. I couldn't follow his train of thought. I couldn't follow where he was going with his actions or what he was planning with the questions he asked.

"I'm not leaving?" I asked him hoping he would clarify.

He started to shift me downwards, "You need to rest."

He was going to tell me to sleep right now? What was he talking about? Still, I could not fight him when he forced me to lie down. I hated to admit it though that I was tired. I still needed to catch up on sleep, but I could not sleep right now. Erik was acting strangely. He was being to obscure for his own good.

"Sleep," he commanded. I glared at him, rather ineffectively, since he simply stayed seated on the bed watching me with an unreadable expression. I tried to keep my eyes open in rebellion but they were beginning to droop. His warmth was soothing. I had unconsciously curled my body to be as close to his heat as possible. I could feel myself falling asleep, but I did not want to.

I caught his gaze for a moment.

I wanted to tell him that I had to leave. I had to get back to my life. My life, that was a joke. I didn't want to return, but I had to. Things would only become harder the longer I stayed away. Philippe's anger would only increase. It was best if I returned soon or not at all.

I wanted to tell him that I needed to have that ring. I needed it more than he could understand. Or, maybe he would understand if I tried to explain it to him.

For some overwhelming reason, I wanted to tell him to not do anything stupid anymore. I was not sure what made me believe that he would hurt Philippe but his anger and his reaction to the revelation that Philippe had been the one to hurt me made me believe it. I was probably too conceited in my hopes that Erik would care for me, but I knew that Philippe would only see an attack as a challenge. If anyone tried to hurt him, he would not rest until that person was eliminated. Philippe was quite vindictive. Erik would get hurt. He would be caught. He would be treated as an animal. I did not want that to happen.

Yet, the only thing that came out was, "Stay." It was my own selfish desire to not be alone that took over before I fell asleep. I thought I felt him stay for which I was glad. I did not want to be so alone anymore. I may only have him for a short time, but I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him.

o.o.o

The next few days followed similarly in that state of pain, joy, and confusion. He was everything but cruel to me and I could not find fault in his actions. Everything should have been fine then. I should have been happy. I had been only myself. I had not had to be anyone else. Yet it felt as though my chains were still there. They loomed in the back of my mind waiting for the time when I would be tossed back into my life. This was not freedom. It was the illusion of freedom under the guise of some twisted relationship. I was still a prisoner.

I was slowly dying. The joy I felt was tainted with such sorrow that I found that I could not smile as much. It had been easier for me to give small smiles in thanks to Erik. He looked a little taken aback every time I did. Not many people probably smiled at him, and it was the least I could do for him. I could not do it any more though. It hurt to smile. It hurt to think of this as only temporary. There was no way this could be permanent though. It would not work. There was no possibility in this life for people like us. I had become a realist suddenly and it was horrible.

I had been bedridden for four days, if Erik could indeed tell day from night in this darkness. He kept candles lit at all times but it did little to expel the heavy shadows that weighed upon the very room. I did not mind it so much. I felt a little more at ease in this darkness. It was only in the light that I had to lie. In the darkness, I need not hide anything for it was hidden already.

I was actually allowed to heal without having to worry about receiving more. Everyday we ate together. Everyday he changed the bandages for my stab wound. Once, we went through the process of changing all the bandages, which I felt to be quite uncomfortable. He had taken out the porcelain pieces in my hands and back. I had thanked him awkwardly again. I had wondered why I needed bandages there.

It was thoughtful of him but it raised my hopes too high. It made me believe he could possibly care for me. That was wrong though. I knew why I could not be happy at this time. It had become painfully clear that Erik could never return the affection I had for him. The random touches, which I had started to anticipate, were coming less and less. It had probably just been my imagination. He in fact touched me only when absolutely necessary. In consolation, at least he still allowed me to hold him whenever he changed my bandages. He still ate with me. Maybe he pitied me. I _had_ said that I did not like to eat alone.

I could not help but wonder who he was though. I had known him before only as a ghost who terrorized the opera house, dropping scenery, threatening the managers, kidnapping Christine, and killing Buquet. Then there was that time I had first spoken to him. He had been witty and civil though very forceful. Now he was kind and gentle with me. I could not find a way to reconcile the different personalities. I could not understand him. Why was he being so nice to me? I returned to the same two answers repeatedly: for Christine and for the Opera Populaire. That was all I was good for. I needed to be well. He was only being nice so that he could do what he wanted since I would owe him. I did not want to think such negative thoughts about him, but I couldn't think of any other reason.

He gave no indication of seeing me as anything but the patron, maybe an ex-rival. I had not thought it could hurt so much. It was not as if I really had him but to know I never could was slowly killing me. I needed to get away. Everyday I asked him for two things, the two things which my life currently relied upon. I asked him to release me. I mentally added 'or kill me', but I did not say it aloud in fear that he may actually comply; although death by his hand seemed better than by Philippe's. The second thing I asked of him was Christine's ring.

To both questions, he said nothing. He looked at me evenly with sad eyes and said nothing. He probably thought I was going to vie for Christine's attention again by taking the ring back. So, I did not push. A part of me wanted to stay. That part did not care how much it hurt to be around him. The rest of me wanted out though. I never liked pain. This was unnecessary and inevitable. It was best to leave now while I still had some shred of sanity.

Today was no different. We were eating what I considered lunch though I could never tell. I spent all my time sleeping and eating. I wondered where he slept if I was in his bed, but whenever I was awake he either sat by the bed or at the table that was not far away. He would have a sketchbook or some blank music sheets. Though his organ was in sight, he never played it. I thought it was quite a shame. Christine had always said he not only sang like an angel but played the organ like one as well. I had not heard either so far.

He took the plate away and helped me sit up though secretly, I could manage by myself. I had not wanted him to find out or else he would have told me to stop holding him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed in deeply. For some reason, I only felt completely at ease when I was touching him, when I could breathe him in. He finished all too soon, and I let go of him reluctantly. Instead of letting me lay back down though, he threw the blankets off me completely. I covered myself as best as I could. He moved my legs to hang off the edge of the bed before pulling away.

I managed to stay upright. He scrutinized me as I sat there covered in bandages trying to hide my privates.

"I _have_ seen it before," he quipped. At least, I knew his caustic wit was a constant.

"Well, you needn't see it again," I replied defensively, "What are you doing anyway?" I shivered a bit without the blankets.

He retrieved some clothes from the table and threw them at me. "Get dressed. I'm giving you the freedom you so desire."

I looked at the clothes uncertainly. He was letting me go? The wave of disappointment made me sway a bit. I had known this moment was to arrive eventually. I cursed the part of me that had hoped something would change between us, that something could. I slowly dressed myself, making sure he could not see my face. I had to compose myself, but the thought of leaving physically hurt me. I forced myself to focus on other things. I realized that the clothes were too large. I tried to pull the sleeves back, but they kept falling over my hands. He had given me his clothes. Focus. I had to stop thinking about him. It would only cause me more pain.

"The ring," I said, finally looking at him.

He helped me stand. I was a bit unsteady from not having moved in four days, but I managed to stand up with his help. He steadied me by grabbing my arms. The floor was cold and I did not have any shoes. Luckily, his pants were long enough that I could step on them.

"I'll return it," we were so close I could feel his breath on my face. Focus on the words. "in seven days."

I snapped out of my stupor, "Seven days?"

He nodded and began to move. I stumbled and he steadied me once more. My legs felt incapable of moving.

"I will return the ring to you only if you remain within my opera house for seven days. If you so much as step one foot out of the building, you should expect nothing from me. Your desires will mean nothing to me and I will do as I please."

I grabbed onto his arm so that I could stand straighter. "You don't want me to leave the Opera Populaire."

He looked down at me, and I suddenly realized our difference in heights. "Would you like me to notify the Comte?"

I looked at him in disbelief. Who was this man? I thought… I had been stupid enough to believe he wouldn't use that knowledge against me. I shook my head.

He nodded satisfied and asked, "Can you not walk?"

I released his arm, and shrugged off his touch. "I can." I couldn't. I just did not want him to touch me anymore. He was not only sending me away he was playing games with my life. I hated games. He reminded me of Philippe suddenly and that thought broke my heart. I had been slowly dying knowing that I would have to leave soon but now the thought of staying with him when he was like Philippe was worse. I had to. I would play the Phantom's game. I frowned a little when I realized I had thought of him as the Phantom. Once learning his name, I had only thought of him as Erik. Now though, he seemed to be the Phantom.

I stepped forward determinedly and was pleased to see my leg hold. However, when I moved to step forward, my leg buckled and I would have fallen to the floor had he not caught me. I cursed loudly in my head.

"If you cannot walk," he lifted me to stand on my feet, "you only need to say so."

My jaw tightened. I did not feel like being lectured currently.

I once again shrugged off his touch when I was certain I could stand. I pulled the sleeves back annoyed that they kept falling forward. It was so frustrating. If he just left me alone, I would be fine. "I'll make it somehow. Just direct me to the exit."

I leveled him with a glare. He merely glared back. He looked just about ready to lose his patience. I didn't care. I had already lost mine.

He moved forward to help me. I swatted his hand away. Had I been the least bit composed, I would have realized what a horrible idea that had been, but I was too incensed.

"Just show me," I gritted out.

He scoffed harshly, "You can barely stand, _boy_."

I wanted to hit him then. I hated it when others called me a child. Philippe only considered me to be a little boy. I may be younger, but I was still a man.

He moved towards me again and grabbed my elbow. "Stop struggling or else your wound will open."

I needed him to get away from me. I pushed against his chest as hard as I could, "Then let it open."

My strength gave out though and he held firmly onto me. My legs had given out and he held me from under my arms.

"Are you done now?" He asked harshly.

Lifting me up to stand on my feet, I nodded my head slowly. I would not meet his eyes. I was still frustrated and angry. He was still too close.

He suddenly hefted me up into his arms, bridal style and began walking, as though my pride could handle anymore. He said nothing to me during the whole trip, and I hated myself for enjoying being held like this. I had crossed my arms though in rebellion though I really just wanted to hold him.

He suddenly stopped walking and set me down. I looked left and right down the passageway and realized I should have been paying attention to where he had been walking. To what end though? I would never return. This was it. He leaned against the wall and then tripped a wire that made the wall shift.

He helped me out and I recognized the hallway. It was near the box seats. No one was around. He grabbed my face so that I would look at him. I expected him to release me, but his hand slid from my chin to the back of my neck. My heart beat faster.

"Watch Christine while you're here. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her."

His words caught me by surprise. He _wanted_ me to be around Christine? Isn't that the opposite of what he should have asked?

"Seven days," he said. Then suddenly his hand as well as his presence was gone and I was alone in the hallway.

I looked around and stepped forward. I fell to the ground rather ungracefully. Sitting on the floor, I wondered how the hell I would get anywhere. "I can't walk, you bastard!" I yelled in frustration. I muttered to myself, "You could have at least left me where someone would find me."

I sat there for what felt like hours trying to compose myself before dragging myself to the wall. I somehow was able to stand and start moving. It was slow progress, but I made it to the main hall where luckily for me, Madame Giry spotted me.

"Vicomte!" she rushed to my side.

Her yell seemed to have echoed since the managers came running out.

"Vicomte."

I forgot that I had to be the Vicomte. I could still be injured though. I nodded to them curtly.

"Sorry for my absence. I had been roughed up and left to wander some tunnels. I barely made my way out of that labyrinth," I did not know where that lie had come from, but I was glad that I had thought it up. I had not even considered what to say to them.

The managers expressed their relief and their praise of my ingenuity. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I smiled gratefully to them instead.

"You must want to go home right away," Andre stated.

I shook my head, "After what the Opera Ghost has done?" I stated firmly, "I need to watch Christine to make certain that nothing happens to her. That fiend may do something. He already ruined the masquerade."

The managers looked uncertain as did Madame Giry. Madame Giry seemed suspicious of my story. I could not blame her. It seemed rather odd that I would find my way out, but the truth was stranger and probably unbelievable.

Firmin was about to reply when I heard a voice that made me stiffen.

"He's right," Philippe strolled up, "He should remain here."

The managers did not know what to say, so instead they nodded their heads. Philippe had that effect on people.

He walked up to me and hugged me tightly, enough so that my wounds hurt. "I'm so glad you have returned. We must talk."

I smiled and nodded in what I hoped to be an enthusiastic manner. Philippe grabbed my arm and squeezed so tightly I almost winced. It was his manner of warning me while helping me to walk.

The managers and Madame Giry moved away.

Philippe was practically dragging me the moment we were out of sight.

"Where have you been?" Philippe whispered angrily.

I kept a straight face and replied, "The Opera Ghost had taken the ring. I went to retrieve it."

He looked unimpressed, "And did you?"

I forced myself not to look away, "No."

"What happened?"

I could not tell him the truth, but he could tell when I lied. I settled for telling as much truth as I could. "He knocked me out."

"You fainted," Philippe interpreted. I did not let my irritation show.

"I woke up trapped in another room," I spoke with an even tone. I _had_ been a prisoner of sorts. "It seemed like a storage room," that had been an outright lie, but I pressed forward not letting my face or tone of voice change, "I searched for an exit but could find none. I went through his things and got these clothes and tore up others for the bandaging."

Philippe seemed to buy it, for which I was pleased. I wondered if he really did, but did not want to jinx it. "How did you escape?" He asked irately.

If I made something up now, Philippe would find a way to question it. Could I tell the truth? "He let me go."

He stared at me. "Why?"

I shook my head. "I don't know." That was at least the truth.

"Why are you staying?" He pressed.

"He said something about taking her," I replied. I hurriedly added, "I broke the engagement off. I swear. I just," I tried to gauge how angry he was, but could not tell, "don't want anything bad to happen to her."

Philippe scoffed. "Though your stupidity is always astounding, it would be best for business if she was not kidnapped again. Stay and be her saviour." He added mockingly. He turned to walk away, but I stopped him.

"Brother."

He turned around. The look in his eyes told me I had better have a good reason for stopping him.

"Please tell mother that I am okay. She must be worried," I shrugged a bit. She was probably the only one worried about me. I knew Christine wasn't. I knew Philippe hadn't been. The managers had Philippe now. My mother was the only one who cared about me. I could not make her worry unnecessarily.

Philippe nodded and left. I was left alone again. I hoped that Philippe was treating her well. I did not know if he would treat her badly when I was not there. He never did when I was around, but it could all be a ruse. I did not want her to suffer as I had. It made Philippe's treatment of me a little better knowing that I was helping her and the thought that maybe if she knew, she would try to stop it. I had other things to worry about now though. Philippe seemed to have agreed so easily. Maybe our separation made it harder for him to read me. I hoped that was the case.

Wondering what my next step would be, Madame Giry suddenly appeared.

"Madame Giry," I said pleasantly, "has the opera house been well?"

She nodded but looked at me appraisingly. I thought that she was going to ask about my story, but instead she firmly grabbed my arm and led me away.

"Did the Opera Ghost harm you?"

I shook my head. What did she know?

"I will show you a place where you can stay."

"I," I shook my head, "I need to look after Christine."

She looked at me worriedly, "What did he say?"

"I have to look after her, Madame Giry," I restated though technically, that was what he said.

She nodded her head, "Christine is either on stage or in her room. When she is practicing, you may watch from your balcony seat. When she is in her room, you are to be outside. I will provide a chair."

I nodded my head. It sounded fine. Hopefully, I would be able to hear if anything were to happen inside her room. I would do this. I could do this.

o.o.o

The next six days passed rather uneventfully. I was optimistic that I would obtain that ring just yet. I could walk steadily by the second day and the stab wound only stung. So, I trailed after Christine. I did not speak to her and she did not speak to me. She was ignoring me completely. I did not mind. It was better this way. Seeing her only reminded me what I could not have. I hoped she would be happy though.

Philippe had brought me a change of clothes for which I was grateful. I had kept Erik's clothes though. At night, I put the shirt on top of my clothing just so that I could pretend he was nearby. It was stupid and childish, but it made me feel better. My imagination was my only consolation nowadays. I could indulge. I had not heard nor seen the Phantom since he left me.

On the other hand, Philippe would come to the opera house everyday and discuss business matters with the managers. He was taking over. I knew that it was inevitable, but it still was disappointing to see it happening. I focused on Christine though. The Phantom had told me to watch her, so I would watch her.

Madame Giry was kind enough to provide me food and a blanket when night fell. The chair was far from comfortable, but I was still tired so I hardly cared.

In the early hours before the sun rose on the seventh day, I woke suddenly. Nothing seemed amiss though. I listened closely to hear if some sound had woken me, but heard nothing. I looked at Christine's room. The door was ajar. I quickly checked inside and found it to be empty. I heard a carriage leaving and rushed downstairs. I hesitated by the door. The Phantom had said to stay inside the building, but he had also said to watch her. I didn't know what to do.

I heard the carriage moving further. I rushed out. I had to watch over her. Asking the carriage driver where she had been heading, I cursed when I heard the cemetery. Of all the places to go before the sun rose, why would she have chosen to visit her father's grave? And now of all times. I jumped on a horse and made chase.

There went any hope of obtaining the ring. I hoped Erik would not find out.

o.o.o.o

End ch15

Word count: 10,346

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter Review:

I think I may have been too verbose in this. 10,346?!?!  
I know what you're thinking… How could I make him realize he likes Erik and then make him believe Erik doesn't like him in the same chapter? I'm too cruel.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Warnings: character death.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note:

These chapters are getting to be obscenely long. In fact, I had planned to have the cemetery scene in these chapters. Just think how long it would have been!

Erik's insecure, poor guy. I'm guessing he's major OC in this chapter, but it's kind of uncharted territory. We see that he can be thoughtful in the end of the musical. How far can his kindness extend would be the major question then. Blah, Erik's in love… he's a puppy. I think for the one he loves, he'd move the entire world for them (and in this case, it's Raoul!).

There's a whole discussion about roles in this chapter. Erik's reviewing the roles that Raoul plays. It's kind of weird, but it's been a common theme so far, so I figured I'd leave it as it was. Tell me if it was confusing.

Oh, and no one dies in this one yet either. Just to assuage your fears as though you didn't realize it from reading Ch15.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 16

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

But…

But he had kept his word. He had broken the engagement.

He had been nothing but forthright and honest.

I had wondered if there was anyone who deserved my pity. This boy did.

Raoul, somehow in this one day, had become mine to protect.

o.o.o

I sat down and watched him. I watched him because I could. I watched him because he was in my bed and he was mine. It was a novel thought. I had once considered Christine to be mine. Her voice, her talent, and her fame were all mine. That was undeniable. However, nothing else was. In a way, I had felt it to be a natural progression that she herself should be mine. I had thought it was the logical next step. So, _I_ took steps to ensure she would be. I did not think she would rebel. I did not think that she would never be able to be anything more. I had not thought that she could be anyone else's. She was though. What I had thought to be mine was merely a farce.

And, here I was once again thinking that I could have something, someone. This time it was different. Though I still did not know how he would react, it felt as though it were already too late for him to say otherwise. Christine could run. Christine could kiss other men. Christine had her freedom. Raoul, well Raoul was like me. He did not. My kidnapping him did not cage him. He had actually needed me. I had never been needed by anyone in my life. Even Christine had not needed me like this. He had to be mine.

I stood up and walked away from the bed. I began to pace.

But what if it were merely my obsession? I felt as though I knew him. I felt as though I understood him. More importantly, I felt as though he knew and understood me. That itself could be a fabrication. I had only spoken to him, truly spoken to him once. Once. I had known Christine since she was but a child and I had been mistaken. I could certainly be wrong this time.

What difference did it make? Obsession or love.

I stopped by the foot of the bed and looked at him. He looked so young asleep. He looked so innocent. It was not as though I could not love him. It was perhaps too easy.

Wait… that was the first time I had thought that.

I had never thought that I could possibly _love_ Raoul. I had thought that I loved Christine, but that was when I had still been lying to myself. No, this had nothing to do with love. Not with him. I had only thought to protect him. I had only thought to make him mine.

What did that mean though?

What did it mean for Raoul to be mine to protect?

The obvious answer that I had the least qualms about was that I was to keep him from harm. It seemed ironic though.

I walked towards a passageway, thinking that I would leave to clear my mind a bit. He would be fine for a little while. He was still sleeping. Yet I could not take one step further. I could not seem to take a step away that would leave him out of my sight. I stood there at the entrance of a passageway I knew would take me to the farthest part of the opera house away from my own home and I could not move. I refused to turn around to look at him.

Was I to watch over him as though I was some angel? An angel. I was more the devil. I could only cause him harm. Yet, here he was in my care better. I had helped him. I had to keep reminding myself that the monster I had been had only ever been a mask. It had been an act that had helped me survive. I was so much more. I had to be more than the monster or else I would have killed Raoul by now.

I had a chance to be someone more, someone more than a monster. I could not let the opportunity pass me.

Moreover, I _wanted_ to keep him from harm.

I turned around and walked back towards the bed. Taking the seat I had vacated, I let my mind go blank for a moment. I let it go blank for as long as I could.

I wanted to keep him from harm. There was nothing amiss about that. I scoffed. Of course I had never protected anyone ever before, but I felt as though I had to make an exception this time. I had to. He was slowly being killed by whoever had given him those scars.

It was then that the other answers to that question would surface. _What did it mean?_ The implications of this recent desire were troubling. _Why_ did I want to keep him from harm?

Who was he to me? It was without a doubt true that he deserved my pity. He had managed to get that from me. He had managed to make a monster feel pity for someone other than himself. It took much to do so.

I tried to look at him and not feel that strange yearning to protect him, to make sure he stopped looking so sad, to make sure he only smiled. I stared at him for hours confused and frustrated. Staring inevitably turned into touching. I could not stop myself.

I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair. It was nice to be able to touch someone. The feeling, the texture of his hair, the warmth that radiated from him was addictive. I never thought that the freedom to touch someone was so intoxicating. I did not want to stop. If I were being honest with myself, I would have said that I was petting him. But, I was not being honest at the moment. My hand moved of its own volition. I touched him only because I had never had the opportunity to freely touch anyone else. I had always been alone. I had never had anyone with me, to suffer with me, or better yet, to ease my suffering.

It evidently took the scar-riddled body of a boy to make me believe that I was not alone. _I_ was not alone. I had struggled alone. I had dreamt, felt, and thought alone. I had imagined myself to die alone. I had been alone all my life.

But, so had he. Raoul had been alone, his scars said as much.

Scars. I knew all about scars. I knew how they stayed not physically but mentally, emotionally. They were ever-present. Some scars could fade from sight unlike others, but none of the ones I had received could ever fade from my mind. I could remember every scar that I had ever gotten and name who had given it.

I could be mistaken though. Raoul could have had someone there with him. He could have had someone to support him. Still, I doubted it. If he had had someone with him, his wounds would have been better tended. He would not have gone to the masquerade at all in his state. Someone would have helped him heal. Someone would have stopped it from ever happening.

No, he had been alone. For some reason, that knowledge was enough to ease my mind. It made my pain a little less unpleasant. Now, here he was with me. It had to be fate. Could fate be that kind?

He deserved my pity, but part of me felt as though he deserved so much more. How much could I give to him? The answer to that question was frightening. I was willing to give him everything. That was too extreme. That was too much. I barely even knew him. That had to be reason enough to stop this madness. Yet, I was still drawn to him. He did not know any of this yet. I could still just let these feelings fade. I could leave him and focus on… focus on what? I did not want Christine. I did not want anything else. All I wanted was Raoul.

Of all the thoughts and doubts, it all came down to wanting him.

I sat bedside and continued to run my fingers through his hair.

When had I ever needed any other reason than that of my own desire?

I pulled my hand back when I saw Raoul begin to stir. He started to mumble and looked like he was going to turn to his other side. He did not manage to move for which I was glad since it would have aggravated his wound. He fell back asleep and I realized that I had been watching him for almost an entire day. That thought was closely followed by the fact that he had been sleeping for an entire day. He had seemed tired at the masquerade, but after seeing the wounds, I only thought it to be due to his injuries. He must not have slept very much either. I desperately wanted to know what he had been through.

I myself felt a little lethargic, but a little sleep deprivation never bothered me too much. I could not sleep anyway. I just wanted to watch him a little while longer. I reached out and grazed strands of his hair. I did not dare to touch him again in fear that he would wake. He did not need to know about my affections for him. He would only be scared away.

I realized that he would wake soon and he would probably be hungry. I left his side to check my resources. I did not eat very much, and lately, I had been consumed by my opera. I had not restocked my food supply in a while so all I had was some meager scraps. I gathered everything and made a mental note that I would have to get Madame Giry to buy me more food. When would I be able to leave though? I could barely leave his side. I could worry about that later. I set the food down by the table and walked over to the bed.

He was still sleeping but the blanket had shifted downward. I pulled it up and settled it higher. My home was quite chilly. I was used to the temperature, but I knew that it had to be cold for him. He was not only unaccustomed to the temperature, but he was also naked, a fact that I would have enjoyed more had I not been infuriated with the scars and wounds that littered his body.

His lips quirked and he pulled the blanket tighter against himself. He seemed so young, so innocent. I could not get past that fact. I was surprised that his innocence was still intact. He was trusting, loyal, and idealistic. I did not know how he could have kept such characteristics. With what he had been through, shouldn't he have been more like me? We were complete opposites though. He had yet to be tainted. It was admirable in a way.

I sat down and watched him. He was handsome. I knew that I could watch him without ever tiring. After a while, I was pulled from my musings when he began to whimper and shift. He began to push the blankets down. Each time he threw them off, I pulled it back up. Could he be sick?

I checked his temperature by placing my hand on his forehead. It was a little warm, but nothing that would indicate he was sick. He seemed to calm down. Maybe he was…

I lost my train of thought when he grabbed my hand with both of his own. Pressing my hand to his cheek, he sighed happily and shifted so that he was cradling my arm. As he hugged my arm, I sat there frozen. I could hear my heart beat loudly in my ears and the blood rush to my face. He was touching me. As little as I had touched others, there were even less times that I had been touched. He seemed so content, but I could not let him cloud my mind like this.

It was hard to think when he was rubbing his cheek against my hand. I could only stand so much. He was sleeping. He had no idea what he was doing. He definitely had no idea what he was doing to me. I slowly pulled my arm away. I scoffed in disbelief when he only held on tighter. Was he awake? Was he only doing this to torture me? It felt nice to touch him like this, but I could not take advantage of him. I did not want to scare him away before I even had my chance to win him over. I had to take it slow. I had to make sure he was open to the idea. Molesting him in his sleep would not be the best way to go about it. I cleared my throat in hopes to wake him up. He had had enough sleep anyway, right?

He slowly opened his eyes just a bit. He was staring at my hand. Maybe he would realize what he was doing. It was amusing to watch him wake up though. He slowly followed my arm up. I could almost see his mind waking up. I could almost see his thought process. I thought he was going to look at me, but he stared at my shoulder for a moment before shutting his eyes. He let go of my hand quickly.

I could see him trying to control his breathing. He looked as though he were about to panic. I allowed myself a small grin at his antics. He was so guileless in his actions. I could barely think of him as ever being deceitful. It was odd to think of him as anyone but Raoul. I knew he acted completely different when he was around the managers. He was the Vicomte. I could not believe these two personalities to be the same person though.

"Are you still sleepy?" I ventured to ask. Maybe I could assuage some of his fears. What kind of face should I show him though? Was I going to lay down like a dog for him? I had some pride. I wanted to win him over not become his lap dog. I was not Piangi. I had never needed to be nice though. What if I wasn't doing it correctly?

I thought he was going to ignore me, but he shook his head slowly in response. Well, what to do next? He was not looking at me. That was indeed a bad indication.

I wanted to make him mine. I wanted him to agree to be mine, but I had kidnapped him. Not only had I kidnapped him though. I had hurt him in the trap and made him fall unconscious before taking him. Even though I eventually helped him, would he see it that way or would he only see me as a villain?

Then there was the ring. I had taken the ring even though I knew he wanted it. I took it mostly because I knew he wanted it badly. He did not know that though. So at least, I could keep that fact a secret from him.

I had been looking at his face when he suddenly frowned. He was probably wondering how he was going to get out of here. He was a prisoner. Surely, he could not mind. I was keeping him away from whoever had been hurting him. I was almost certain that it was the Comte. I could not jump to conclusions though. He could just be an apathetic brother.

His eyes flew open and he looked truly frightened. Whatever he had been thinking had scared him. I hoped he had not been thinking about me. I was at a loss for what to say and simply ended up saying, "I thought you had fallen back asleep."

It had been obvious he had been awake though. I could not let him think that he was so transparent to me though. It would only serve to unnerve him. It unnerved _me_ how well I could read him. It took no effort at all on my part. His expressions, his gestures, his eyes spoke volumes; volumes which I could read easily. It felt nice to be able to understand someone so deeply.

He finally looked at me and I held his gaze. He was not scared, not at me at least. He held my gaze steadily and I found myself glad he could. Not many people could look at me and not turn away, mask or no mask. They would always turn away in fear. I had always tried to scare them away though. This time, I wanted him to look. I wanted him to see me. I was pleased to see that he stared at my eyes and not my mask.

I feared the time though when I would have no mask. I was afraid of his reaction when he finally saw me without it. Would he act like Christine? Not only Christine though, would he act like everyone else who had ever seen me? I was hideous.

What was I thinking? Of course, he would be horrified. I had to make him see me though. I had to make him see the man, not the monster. It was why I could be nice to him. It was not the only reason I was nice to him, but I could hope he would already see me before that moment came.

He looked away self-consciously and for some other reason I could not quite name. It was not in fear. I wanted to see his eyes. It was easier for me to gauge how well I was doing if I could see his eyes.

He glanced up at me sheepishly and shook his head. He was being incredibly shy. It was a little surprising considering how he had acted when we had first spoken. He had been forthright and had even threatened me. That had been of course when he had not been my prisoner. It was only natural that he would be subdued in this situation. Still, I had liked that encounter. It had been interesting to watch him then. Not to say that Raoul was not interesting right now, I could barely keep my eyes off him and he had been unconscious a vast majority of the time I had spent watching him.

He suddenly flushed and I wondered what he was thinking. He would not look at me. It was as though he were intentionally making it impossible for me to decipher his thoughts. It was an unfair advantage on my part, but I had no idea how to go about ingratiating myself to him.

He shifted and this time I could tell why. He was afraid. He pulled the blankets tighter against him, and he must have realized how dangerous I really was. He must have remembered. I did not want him to be afraid of me, but what could I say? I could not tell him I had never killed anyone. I could not tell him I had never hurt anyone. So, how could he believe me if I said I would not hurt him?

I was worried and searching for a way to calm him when he stopped looking afraid and instead looked confused. He pulled his hands from under the blanket and stared at them. I hoped that this would help my case. He would see that I had helped him. He would see that I could be gentle and kind.

He peaked under the blankets and flushed a deeper red. I fought hard not to grin. He blushed so easily and the color made him looked irresistible. My years in solitude had denied me the pleasure of touching anyone else. Now that I had finally done so, I could feel other desires beginning to stir. My hand twitched. I wanted to reach out and touch him then. I held myself back and forced myself to not grin when he looked up at me mortified before pulling the blankets tighter against him.

I wanted to laugh. Did he think I had never seen such anatomy before? His reaction was so prudish I had not expected it. As I watched him though, I realized that his embarrassment was not the only reason. He looked so sullen and dejected.

I tried to determine what was wrong, but he kept his gaze on the edge of the bed. I had the feeling he wanted to disappear. Why would he want to do that? His eyes shone unnaturally. Was he going to cry?

I was bewildered. I could not understand why he was reacting like this. I had to think about this logically. I knew he reacted because he realized that he was naked. It would be an unreasonable response if he were so distressed because another man had seen his privates. Of what else was there to be ashamed? There was only one explanation left, his scars and wounds.

I thought on it for a moment. I would not want other people to see my scars. They were my shame. They represented a time when I had been weak. They represented a time when I had not been enough. I had to change, and I did. I became a murderer.

Therefore, I had seen Raoul's weakness. I had seen his shame, but why act so adversely? I could not have been… Was I the only one who had seen them? I wanted him to meet my eyes so that I could confirm the thought but he firmly refused.

He looked so hurt then, so angry with himself.

I did not think less of him though. How could I? I had similar scars, but the truth was I was disappointed with myself for having been too weak. Should I not feel the same disappointment in him? I should, but I could not. Raoul had held on. He had not reached the point where he was willing to be a killer. I realized that I did not want him to reach that point. I wanted him to stay the Raoul I knew. I wanted him to stay the Raoul who was the product of those scars yet still moved on as though they were not there.

He was strong. Stronger than I had been when I was first healing. I had not wanted to move, so I did not. I had not wanted to live, so for a while, I did not. I let the pain consume me. I let it take over. I only found reprieve in hatred. He had not. Though I hated the roles we played, he had somehow blended in with society instead of standing out. I was an outcast, not only because of my deformity but also because of my actions. A murderer will always be an outcast.

I had admired him. When I had first seen the wounds, my first reaction had not been one of disgust or disdain. I had been astonished. Raoul did not cease to amaze me. He was so much more than he let people believe. He had fooled me more times than I would like to admit. Yet, when I was with him, I could not believe he could deceive anyone. I could not believe that anyone would want to do this to him. What could he have done? What was his crime?

Were we all to be victims in life? My crime was naught but my face. His crime… I could not even think what crime he could have possibly done. Perhaps it was naiveté. Perhaps it was his innocence. Such innocence surely could not exist. It was much too impractical in this cruel world.

He looked to be so conflicted. His brows were furrowed and his breathing was laboured.

He probably saw me still as an opponent. Revealing such a weakness to an opponent would certainly mean destruction. I could not do that to him though. It felt as though someone was wrenching my heart when he looked so wounded.

Was this empathy? Was this what it felt like to hurt for someone? I had never felt this before. I had not needed to. I had been apart from the world. I had been alone. Now, I was not. I was not alone in the world. This pain was different, but I was glad that I felt it. It made me hope for my future. It made me hope that there could be more.

I wanted to stop his pain. What to do though? Words would not suffice. Actions had always spoken louder than words. I reached forward to soothe his brow. Before I reached him though, he physically recoiled and flinched.

I froze. Even in his state, he had reacted so strongly. He had even moved his whole body. How traumatized was he? I would not hurt him. I could not. Not again. Not when I knew what I did. Not when I suddenly found myself caring too much.

He remained cowering for a while. He truly expected me to hit him. How could I make him understand that I would not? He slowly opened his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He glanced at me uncertainly. He was so afraid. This was a fear with which I was unfamiliar. I knew fear. I had instilled it within people for years.

Raoul's fear was heartrending. It was a mixture of fear and resignation. He did not want to be hit, but it was obvious that he was expecting it. He thought that it would occur and therefore accepted it. He should not have to accept it. He should not have to believe no one would stop it.

The need to protect him welled up stronger. There was no denying it. I would unquestionably protect him. Moreover, I would make him mine and make him understand it.

I knew what I wanted now. I simply did not know how to go about and do it.

Raoul would not look at me for extended periods of time. I did not fully understand why. Was it just me or would he avoid everyone's gaze? There was no way to test that though. He was skittish and seemed to have some inner conflict within him. If he were fighting a battle within himself, I would have no way to reach him.

I had to bring him out. I had to pull him out of his inner dialogue and keep him with me.

When he finally looked at me again, I reached out to him. He still flinched, but he did not recoil. As gently as I knew how, I pressed my hand against his forehead. He froze under my touch. He was confused. Apparently, he had not expected such an act from me. He would have to get used to it though. I wanted to be able to touch him freely.

He relaxed gradually. His muscles became less tense and he did not look so worried.

It was best to make him believe that I had not touched him for the sake of touching him. It would be best for him to know I worried for his health, "Are you hot?"

I pulled my hand away reluctantly. It was perhaps a bad idea because when I did, Raoul looked apprehensive once again. How much pain had he gone through for him to be so anxious? I knew the answer to that question though. I had seen every inch of his body. I had a map in my head that kept the number and location of every scar. I could not erase his past. I could not even erase my own. How could I overcome something that was ever-present?

Raoul shook his head in response. He winced and looked away.

I was frustrated. I was weak. I was losing in the battle to keep Raoul here. I grabbed his chin irately. I realized my mistake all too late when I saw Raoul close his eyes in fear. I wanted to protect him and here I was letting my anger get the better of me. I wanted to shake him to snap him out of it. Instead, I held his chin. He had stiffened but did not pull away. I considered it a good sign.

"Look at me," I ordered. I thought to ask nicely, but I did not know how.

I was a little cross to see that he obeyed immediately. He had been trained. Those wounds had been inflicted so that he would be obedient. I wondered briefly what he would have been like had he been allowed to be free. I could not help but feel connected to him. I believed that we both would have been different had we been able to live freely. It was this life though that had brought us together. Could I wish for something else?

He stared at me intently. I appreciated that when he looked at me, he looked me directly in the eyes. It was as though the mask did not exist. I could pretend that it did not when he looked at me. I was angry though, and I saw him notice it. I should have hid my irritation, but it was too late. He tried to pull away, and failed. He winced in pain and I could not help but feel frustrated with myself. I was only hurting him more.

"Stop moving, you'll only reopen the wound." I said more roughly than I had meant to.

He shook his head. I did not think he would listen to me. He was panicking. I had to make him listen though. I was afraid that he would reopen his wound. It would only make his recovery take longer.

"Relax," I stared intently at him. He had to listen to me. It was for his own sake. "I'm not planning on hurting you," I tried to make him believe I meant it. I doubted he would listen, but then he nodded. I was relieved but almost could not believe it. "So, stop moving."

I let him go and leaned back in the chair. He relaxed and I wondered what I had ever done to deserve his trust. He actually believed me. I was the last person who deserved it, but he offered it to me so easily. I had only hurt him so far, so why did he believe me when I said I would not? I could not focus on that though. I should not focus on gifts. I should focus on the hardships that lay between us.

I watched him closely. His expressions changed moment to moment. It was how I could tell that he had some inner dialogue. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I wanted to know him more. I still did not know how to do it without scaring him away. My emotions seemed to overwhelm me. I could not let them overwhelm him or else I may lose him.

He looked up at me, and I did not bother to hide the fact that I was watching him. He seemed a little self-conscious, but nothing else.

"Thank you," he whispered. I read his lips more than heard the words. He lifted his hands indicating the bandages. He looked away and I could barely tell if he had thanked me because he was simply being polite or because he truly meant it.

I leaned forward about to ask him when he flinched again. Maybe he did not trust me. I could not be so direct with him. It would only scare him. Instead of forcing him to look at me again, I let my urge to touch him take over and brushed some strands of hair behind his ear.

He began to blush and I wanted to touch him again. I held myself back. I liked to see him blush. He would nervously look away and grin a self-deprecating smile that I wanted to kiss away.

I did not know how to react to that thought. I could admit that I wanted him, but the logistics of the actions seemed so foreign. I mentally stumbled over them. It was one thing to want someone and another to express that desire physically. I barely touched him and my heart raced. The thought of kissing him made my stomach lurch. I wanted it even more though.

I had to stop thinking about it. I had other things to worry about. There was a topic I wanted to breach, but could find no easy way.

"You have a lot of injuries," I began, "and a lot of scars."

I could not be anything but straightforward. Raoul already knew I had seen them all. Of course, he should have known that I would ask him about them. Would he answer though? He looked hesitant.

I had meant to interrogate him about his wounds. I had meant to force him to reveal every single story and to reveal who had done those things to him even though I had a strong inkling as to who it already was. How could I though? How could I when he looked so afraid, when he looked so hurt. How could I when he flinched every time I moved toward him? Yet he still let me touch him. Yet he could still look at me with such trust. He could look at me openly. It surprised me that he could even look at me.

I wanted to make him feel better not feel more conflicted. I would find out one way or another how he obtained those scars. It would just take more time than I was accustomed. I could not just watch him ruminate on how to respond to me. I was glad that he had decided not to lie though. I considered dropping the subject altogether for now, but I figured that he could think about it when he was eating. I could not forget that he was still under my care. I could not forget that I wanted him to get better. He struggled to help the process of sitting him up, but he was still confused.

Pulling the pillow up, I leaned him against it worried that he would not be able to sit properly. The urge to hurt someone for doing this to him filled me. I would find this person and kill them. I would make them suffer. "Will your back be okay with this?"

Though a little uncertain, he nodded. Smiling ruefully, he commented, "It's not as though I can sit any other way though."

I knew he had meant it as a joke, as some lighthearted observation, but it only angered me further. My jaw clenched and I stood up. I needed to expel some of the anger I felt or else I knew I would end up hurting Raoul. I let out a deep breath. It was harder to stay calm than I had ever thought. I was not used to repressing my emotions like this and it was exhausting. For Raoul though, I knew that I could.

I walked to the table and retrieved the food. I frowned at it not pleased with the selection. Raoul was a Vicomte. He would surely not appreciate such food. He had to be hungry though, so I knew he would eat it.

I walked to the bed and placed the tray down on his lap. He looked at the plate with such surprise and joy you would think he had never received food before. He was grinning widely. His happiness made my heart lighten. He was so pleased with something as simple as food. I had forgotten that he was no ordinary Vicomte. I had forgotten that he was not the Vicomte. He was Raoul, and I was relieved that Raoul could be so grateful.

Realizing that I too was grinning, I frowned at myself. I should not be so easily swayed emotionally by Raoul's moods. He had yet to eat so I said harshly, "You're hungry, are you not?"

He nodded eagerly and picked up the single piece of bread. He looked at it for a moment before tearing it in half. I wondered what he was doing. The piece of bread was not very large to begin with, why tear it in half? When he offered me the other half, I stared at him in disbelief.

Who was he? From where did his kindness come? I could not understand it. I knew Raoul had to be hungry. He looked as though he had scarcely eaten in weeks and he was offering me half of his meal. He had not even started to eat just to make sure he could eat his full before offering. I never knew people like him could exist.

"I'd rather not eat alone." He stated sheepishly and I could not find it in me to refuse him.

I did not eat very much. In fact, I only ate when I absolutely needed to. At this moment, I felt a little hungry, but I could ignore it. Food held no interest for me. It was simply something I had to do. When Raoul began to eat, I bit into the piece of bread. There was nothing special about it, but I suddenly had an appetite. The food was not bland. It did not feel like a chore to eat, especially since watching Raoul eat was intriguing. Raoul ate happily. He appeared to savor every morsel of food he ate, as though it was the first time he had ever tried it. I ached to touch him, but I contented myself with sharing this meal with him. I was pleased to note that he seemed quite content to sit there and share his meal with me.

I had never eaten with anyone, and I wanted to talk to him. I did not know what to say though. I did not know how to break this oddly comfortable silence. It seemed so fragile.

Raoul looked at ease but every time I reached forward, he would flinch still. I did not know if I should be angry or not. He did not seem to think I was going to hurt him. It was probably just reflex to another person's presence. He kept offering me half smiles. Smiles that were painful to look at. His smiles were always tainted with sadness. They were the only real indication of what he had been through. You could see some of the pain he had experienced whenever he smiled at you. Though they hurt, I waited almost eagerly for his smiles because I knew he was smiling at me, for me. He was trying for me, and no one had ever made that kind of effort for me before.

I watched him eat and noticed as some of the fruit's juice clung on the side of his lip. Before I fully thought through it, I reached forward and wiped the juice off. He froze in that position and I realized what I had done. I knew I should not touch him so freely, but after being able to do so when he was asleep, I could not help myself. He was mine after all.

He slowly relaxed and returned eating without comment. I would not have known what to say if he had asked. He had not objected yet. He had not told me to stop touching him, which I considered an invitation to do so more often. However, I knew that it could also be because he was simply afraid of me. He let me touch him because he did not want me to hurt him. He flinched enough for me to conclude as much, but I did not want to be so cynical. I was cynical in every aspect of my life. With Raoul, I wanted to have some hope.

He suddenly started to cough. He was choking, and I grabbed his shoulders. What was I supposed to do? I had never seen someone choke without dying. Given the fact that I had usually been the cause of their choking, me and a Punjab lasso, I had never thought to find a way to save someone from choking. I was near panicking myself when his coughing stopped.

He looked flushed but seemed to be all right.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded vigorously. He was hiding something from me. I reluctantly let him go and offered him a drink. Perhaps it would help him swallow whatever had caused him to choke. I looked down at the plate and realized we had eaten everything. I took both cup and plate and put them aside.

I had given him enough time to think about a way to respond. I sat down on the bed and unconsciously sat close enough to be touching him. My heart beat faster. I looked away while I composed myself. I spoke as calmly as I could though that was not very calm. I did not want him to think I was angry with him even though every time I thought about his scars, I wanted to hurt someone. It was not his fault. "Where did they come from?" I looked at him.

Raoul still looked unsure. He did not know what to do. There was probably nothing I could do to make it easier for him to tell me, but I just had to know. I had to know who had whipped him. I had to know who had cut him. I had to know who had starved him. I could just imagine the blood on my hands once more. It was blood that never should have been spilt. I clenched my fists in anger.

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

I spoke for him, "What happened to you?" I wanted to ask what had happened in the past month. Whatever it had been, I knew it to be the reason for his most current injuries. I wanted to ask what had happened in the past. He had probably heard fabrications of my past. I did not think he knew what had really happened to me though. He would not know my scars. I thought to share them, but could not. I would find out more about him before sharing of myself.

He shook his head and spoke in a fragile voice, "Please don't ask me that. Please."

We stared at each other in a deadlock.

He had the advantage. He looked to be in so much pain from just the question that I could not force the issue. I would eventually find out. I could wait for his tales. What I could not wait for however, was the most important question.

I nodded, "Okay, I won't." He looked relieved quite prematurely, and I continued my statement, "I won't ask _what _if you tell me who."

I looked at him challengingly. I would let him have his secrets since I knew I had my own. However, I would not go another day without finding out who had done this to him. I would not be swayed on this topic.

He stared at me wide eyed. I could tell he did not understand why I wanted to know. I could tell he still thought I was his adversary. I would prove to him I was not, but for now, I would let the misunderstanding hold as long as he told me. I did not think he had anything to lose if he told me. It was not as if I could make it any worse for him. He looked to have it bad enough already, any worse and he would be dead. I scowled at the thought. I did not want to think of an unhappy ending for us.

His mood seemed to lighten when he spoke again, "I will tell you, but only if you tell me your name."

My name? I did not think he would bargain. I should not even bother. He had no leverage, but he seemed resolved. I responded, "What if I have no name?"

"Then you shall receive none from me," he responded firmly.

I had no name. One did not need a name if one was never called. I had only been called Opera Ghost or Phantom. There were other names that were more designations than names such as monster and devil's child. I knew they were not what Raoul wanted. There was something. I could faintly remember it. A long time ago, deep in my past, I remembered being called a name, a name that seemed so ordinary now. I had almost forgotten it. Erik. Did I want to tell him though? No one called me by that name. Was it even mine to give?

"A name for a name," I thought aloud. It was a good bargain.

Raoul nodded eagerly and I thought to give it to him right away if it made him this excited. Instead, I stayed uncertain. The name was nothing but a mockery of what should have been a normal life. I could not tell him.

I needed to stall. I did not want to tell him, but I did not think he would tell me the name otherwise. He shifted a bit uncomfortably and I saw he had bled through his bandages. I decided that he needed to have his bandages changed. I was avoiding the matter at hand, but I was not used to negotiating. I usually obtained what I wanted, and if I did not, I would cause some general havoc. I could not do so with Raoul. So, avoidance was not so terrible. At least, it gave me time to consider my options.

This past day I had been so lost. I had been experiencing a whole set of emotions from which I had blocked myself. I had never had restraint. I had never had patience. Then again, I had never felt this way about anyone. I was actually hesitant in my actions.

I grabbed his shoulders and with great care, I pulled him until he was sitting upright. I hoped I was not hurting him. Since he was awake, this was the best way to change his bandages. It was better than having to roll him over.

"What?" He asked confused. I could tell he was a little annoyed.

"I'm going to change your bandage," I explained.

"What?" He asked again. What part of that statement did he not understand?

"I said…"

He cut me off, "I heard you," he blushed and I found myself amused. He continued, "I thought you wanted to know about…"

He did not need to finish the sentence. I knew of what he was speaking. I looked at him. He squirmed a bit in my grasp, and I realized that I was almost embracing him. I pretended to think on it longer simply so that I could just hold him longer.

"I'm considering it," I finally replied.

He nodded rather compliantly. A compliant Raoul was somewhat attractive, enough so that I was distracted. I considered waiting to see how long I could hold him before he said anything. However, that was not the impression I wanted to give.

Instead, I asked, "Can you sit up without assistance?"

I secretly hoped the answer was no. I released him just a bit and I saw him struggling to stay upright. He winced and I supported him immediately.

"No," he replied shakily, "I don't think I can."

I held onto him mad at myself for even letting him try. Of course, he would not be able to sit up by himself. His wound was still bleeding and he was still in pain. I calmed down quite quickly though. I was touching him. I found that doing so calmed me down considerably.

I began unraveling the bandages. It was a little difficult trying to hold him up and removing the bandages but I hardly minded. I was touching him and Raoul had, for the moment, stopped flinching. I could pretend that he wanted me to touch him.

I froze when Raoul wrapped his arms around my neck. He was sitting upright by himself, but I hardly noticed that. We were practically cheek-to-cheek. I was glad that he could not see my face since I was certain that I was blushing. I was almost certain that he would be able to feel the heat. I could not deny that it felt nice though. It felt incredible. Touching him was one thing, but being touched by him was almost too much. His arms touching my neck made me want to moan. He was hugging me. I forgot how to breathe.

Then he spoke, "It's easier this way, right?" His breath caressed my throat and it sent shivers down my spine. I nodded my head and in doing so, our cheeks brushed against each other. My heart skipped a beat. My hands were shaking. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to bury my hands in his hair and kiss him. I really wanted to hold him.

Instead, I began to unravel the bandages. It was actually harder this way. He was a little too close and I had a hard time removing it without actually seeing it, but that hardly mattered. He was holding me. I would tell him to hold me tighter if it had been an option. I thought he had been relaxing but a sudden intake of breath told me that his wound had suddenly started to hurt again. He had probably tensed up.

He let out a shaky breath and my self-restraint was near breaking. I almost forgot that I had finished unraveling the bandages. Although I was loathe to do so, I grabbed his arm and pulled it from my neck. He took the hint and released me. "Lay down while I clean the wound."

He looked exhausted. Maybe trying to clean his wound right now was a bad idea. It had taken too much energy for him. He looked at me work with half-lidded eyes and knew that he would fall asleep soon. His jaw had tightened in pain but he made no noise. He started to sweat from the effort. I knew I had to finish faster. It was necessary though. He would feel better later.

I lifted him up and secretly smiled when he immediately wrapped his arms around my neck. I took a moment to relish the feel of Raoul against me before taking great care to rewrap his wound. I faltered when I felt him place his forehead on my shoulder. I knew he must have been in horrible pain.

"Erik," the word came out of me before I could stop it. I did not know why I had said my name, but I wanted to ease his suffering somehow.

He slowly repeated, "Erik?"

There was no turning back now. "Yes, Erik." I replied evenly. The name seemed foreign on my lips.

Raoul was silent. I continued to wrap his wound. Maybe he would not use it. It did not feel like my name. It had only been used few times and no one for decades had ever called me it.

I finished bandaging and he had yet to say anything. However, when I leaned him back against the pillow, he was grinning madly. I looked at him amused. Evidently, I had chosen the right thing to say to relieve some of his pain.

"Erik," he said merrily. When he said my name, the awkwardness of it belonging to me seemed to disappear. I _was_ Erik. I was not the Opera Ghost. I was not the Phantom. I was simply Erik. What power did Raoul have over me that he could perform such a feat?

I shook my head. "No," I said lightly, "that would be my name. You were going to tell me the name of who had done this to you."

"Erik," he repeated just as happily.

I did not mind him calling my name. It felt nice. It did not feel as strange as I thought it would have. It came naturally from his lips, and I could tell that he approved. I was beginning to approve as well.

He lost his mirth though when my words finally reached him. I may have said it lightly, but I still meant it. I wanted to know who had done this to him. It was part of the deal, and I knew Raoul would relent. He kept his promises.

He looked down at his hands, purposefully avoiding my gaze, when responding, "Philippe."

I cursed a string of words loudly in my head. Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate on something other than the anger. I was going to kill him. I should have killed him when I had the chance in Christine's room. Forget torture, every moment he was still breathing was a moment too long.

"The Comte," I spat out. It was the only words I would let myself speak. I barely saw Raoul nod his head.

I was going to kill him right now. I moved to stand up when I felt a hand grab my own. I could not stop myself quick enough and ended up pulling Raoul forward. He gasped in pain, and my concern overpowered whatever anger I had felt. What was I doing? Raoul was the most important thing now. Raoul was here. What was I thinking going away?

Angry with myself, I spoke restrainedly, "What do you think you're doing?" I wanted to yell that he could have hurt himself more.

He looked at me pleading, "You-you aren't going to do anything are you?"

Not if he kept looking at me like that. The Comte needed to be killed though. I looked at the exit I had been heading towards and back at Raoul. It was decided then that I could kill him later. I sat back down. Right now, Raoul was here with me. He would stay with me.

"You aren't leaving." I stated firmly.

Raoul looked confused again. "I'm not leaving?"

That was non-negotiable. Raoul was mine. He was going to stay with me. I did not want to talk about it anymore, so I started to shift him down so that he would sleep. "You need to rest." He needed to not question me.

He looked rather annoyed at me then. I realized that I was being rather obscure right now, but Raoul would have to deal with it. I did not want to talk about this anymore. I had already stayed. I had already chosen Raoul over killing the Comte.

He glared at me, and I replied to it, "Sleep." He pouted but I could tell that he was sleepy. He had moved closer to me and I was tempted to join him in bed. Instead, I sat there, watching him struggling to stay awake.

He was mine. The thought echoed in my thoughts. It echoed in my very being.

I caught his gaze for a moment. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, so I waited. He murmured, "Stay" before falling asleep.

I wanted to tell him that I would. I would stay with him forever. What I really wanted to tell him was for him to stay with me. I waited for his breathing to steady and his body to relax fully before I touched him.

All my previous actions had only driven Christine away. What had I done wrong? I had shown her that I had loved her. I had given her everything that she ever wanted. I had revealed myself to her. She still left me. I could not let what happened with Christine happen with Raoul. I had never really felt this way. This gnawing helplessness and uncertainty when he was in pain was new. I had wanted to reach out so many times. He was so close and I had already touched him. My mind had already memorized the feel of him. Yet I knew that I could not. I would frighten him away. I would drive him away as I had with Christine.

Something had to change.

I was willing to. I found myself willing to do anything for him.

o.o.o

I finally found the strength to leave him when he was sleeping. We needed food and more bandages. When I was certain that he would sleep for an extended period, I left to ask Madame Giry to obtain the supplies I needed. Most of my time I spent near Raoul though. I would find myself touching him whenever I could. He would sometimes sigh. I imagined it to be because he was content, but I knew he was dreaming of someone else.

I usually only stopped to draw portraits of him. I filled my sketchbooks of portraits of Raoul. I remembered the mezzanine and how I wanted to draw his smile. When he slept, he would sometimes smile. I had to capture those images. I tried to memorize every expression he had. I wanted to remember him no matter what happened.

Looking at him, I even heard melodies. I heard music when I saw him. I thought myself to be mad. It was music I thought I would never compose. Though I wanted to play my organ, I found that I could not. I would lose myself to the music. I would lose myself to the melodies. When I had played the organ when Christine had been in my home, I had not even noticed her. She had unmasked me then. What if Raoul did the same? I did not want him wandering away when I was playing my organ. He was here and I would spend every moment I could with him.

Still, I could not help but be unhappy. I was losing Raoul already. He seemed to grow more depressed as each day wore on. I did not know what was upsetting him. I tried not to be too imposing on him. I stopped touching him when he was awake because he still flinched quite violently. It was hard to not reach out and touch him, so I often sat at the table that was nearby and watched him from there when he was awake. Still, he smiled at me less and less. Everything was deteriorating and I did not know why. I did not know what to do to make it stop.

I should have known this was to occur though. I had been fooling myself. Raoul was a prisoner. He would realize that eventually. No matter how kind he acted to me, he would eventually realize who I was. He would eventually realize he did not want to be near me.

I wanted us to be at ease with each other. Everyday we ate together. Everyday I changed his bandages. Once, when the need to touch him when he was awake was overwhelming, I decided that all his bandages needed to be changed. He had been uncomfortable, but he thanked me nonetheless.

There were times when he looked at me so sadly that I wondered what he was thinking. I could not understand his mood. He looked resigned, but I could not imagine to what he felt resigned. It only made me feel more helpless. I was beginning to feel frustrated.

I felt the most frustrated and angry the few times that Raoul spoke. Everyday when Raoul woke, he would ask for two things, the two things which I never wanted to give him. He asked me to release him. I had to bite my tongue whenever he asked for this. I did not want him to go. I would not let him go. Whenever he asked, I only wanted to hold onto him more. I did not know what to do to make him want to stay.

He would also ask for Christine's ring. After Raoul had told me that his brother had indeed been the one to harm him, I could only assume that he was also the one that told Raoul to retrieve the ring. His brother was a sadistic bastard. It made me want to kill him more, but I did not want to have Raoul wake up alone in my home so I hardly went up long enough. I did not want to return the ring because then Raoul would have no interest in me. Once that ring was out of my possession, Raoul would have no business with me. He needed only to leave Paris and forget about me. I was almost glad his brother told him to retrieve the ring. At least this way, he would have a reason to seek me out.

I said nothing when he asked me these things. I did not know how to respond. I did not want to give him either of these things, but I knew that if I prolonged his stay, he would only grow to hate me. I would lose him. It was what happened with Christine. I tried to hold onto her and she kept pulling away. I knew what I had to do, but I did not want to do it.

Today would be the day. I would give him the freedom he so desired, but I would not let him go too far. He was mine. I could give him the impression of freedom for a bit. I wanted to believe he would return to me anyway, but I knew that to be foolish optimism.

We ate in silence then I sat him up to change his bandages. I was secretly glad that he could not sit up on his own yet. He would wrap his arms around me, and I could imagine that he did so simply because he wanted to. His breath tickled my neck and I wanted to stay like this forever. I prolonged changing his bandages for as long as I could just so that I could hold him that much longer, but it ended all too soon.

This was good-bye. Instead of laying him back down, I threw the blankets off him and turned him sideways so that he was seated at the edge of the bed. He stayed upright and looked well. It was saddening to think he would be gone, but at least he would leave in better health. To my amusement, he tried to cover himself.

He was blushing again, and I wanted to reach out and touch him again. "I _have_ seen it before," I quipped.

He replied defensively, "Well, you needn't see it again. What are you doing anyway?" He was shivering, but I stood my ground.

He wanted to leave. So, I would let him. I would let him go. The frustration returned. I was going to be alone again. I picked up the clothes on the table and threw them at him. "Get dressed. I'm giving you the freedom you so desire."

Fate was testing me again. Maybe it was testing us. I would let him go for now. I would think of a way to get him back. I would think of a way to get him to come back himself.

He looked at the clothes in disbelief. He swayed a little but steadied himself and began to dress. I watched him dress letting my anger overcome my sadness. I wanted to yell at him to make him understand he was only going to get hurt out there. He would be safe with me.

He looked younger wearing my clothes. They were too big, and they hid the scars I knew to be there. He was somehow less Raoul clothed. He reminded me more of the Vicomte. He looked at me, and I thought he would ask to stay. However, he only said blandly, "The ring."

I hated that ring. I hated myself for hoping other words would leave his mouth. I pulled him to his feet. I still could not find it in me to injure him though. I steadied him when it looked like he could not stand. He had not walked in a while; I was surprised he could stand at all.

I did not want to let him go. I had to keep him.

An idea came to me. "I'll return it," I held him closer hoping he would not notice, "in seven days."

"Seven days?"

I nodded and began to move. If I stayed that close to him, I would not let him go. He stumbled after me and I steadied him. I did not think he could walk.

I stopped and explained to him my idea, "I will return the ring to you only if you remain within my opera house for seven days. If you so much as step one foot out of the building, you should expect nothing from me. Your desires will mean nothing to me and I will do as I please."

He would be here for seven more days. I would see if he was happier without me. I wanted his happiness, and I dearly hoped he would find it with me. If that were not the case though, I would have to let him go. Could I let him go? He was mine.

He grabbed my arm so that he could stand, "You don't want me to leave the Opera Populaire."

I looked down at him, and the words came out before I thought of them. "Would you like me to notify the Comte?" I did not know what had overcome me. I did not want to ever have to use the knowledge of Raoul's scars against him. It was despicable, and he had trusted me with it. I trusted him not to share my name so why did I use the Comte against him like that? I was too frustrated. I was too hurt myself to care.

He looked at me in disbelief. He looked hurt himself. Betrayal was obvious in his eyes. I already knew I had betrayed him though, so why did I feel worse?

I ignored the feeling. Raoul was the one who wanted to go. I was obliging. "Can you not walk?" I asked even though I knew he could not. However, to my surprise he released my arm and shrugged off my touch.

He responded, "I can."

He could barely stand. What was he thinking? He should not be stupid. He should ask for help when he needed it, but I could tell he was angry. This was the first time that Raoul had ever been angry with me. I did not know how to react except with anger myself. If he thought he could walk, I would let him.

I was not angry enough to let him fall though. When his leg buckled after the first step, I caught him before he could fall to the floor.

Lifting him to his feet, I commented tersely, "If you cannot walk, you only need to say so."

His jaw visibly tightened. Once again, he shrugged off my touch. He irritatedly pulled his sleeves back and I caught a glimpse of his scars again. I wanted to hold him. I closed my eyes briefly before getting angry with myself for being weak. Raoul wanted to leave. He was the one that did not want help. It did not matter what I wanted.

"I'll make it somehow. Just direct me to the exit."

He leveled me with a glare. I glared back. He thought he was angry. He could not even begin to understand how angry I was. He was lucky my patience was holding as long as it had been. He looked furious though. I moved forward to forcefully help him, but he swatted my hand away.

"Just show me," he gritted out.

I scoffed, "You can barely stand, _boy_."

I did not mean it though. How could I think of him as a boy? He only became angrier. His fists were clenched at his sides and he looked as though he wanted to attack me. I was too angry to care though. He could try, but I knew he would fail. He could not even walk. What was he thinking? Didn't he want to leave?

I grabbed his elbow saying, "Stop struggling or else your wound will open."

He only tried harder to get away. He pushed against my chest as hard as he could, "Then let it open."

His strength gave out though and his legs buckled again. I held onto him firmly. I was angry all right, but I was angry with myself for being so weak. I should be able to let him go. I was willing to do anything for him, and if he wanted his freedom, I should not pick useless fights with him. It was simply the fact that I was willing to give him anything he wanted as long as he was with me. I wanted him to be with me no matter what. Was that so hard to ask? He was being so ungrateful for what I had done for him.

"Are you done now?" I asked more harshly than I intended.

He would not look me in my eyes, but he seemed to have given up the struggle. He nodded his head slowly. He could not walk, but we needed to leave.

Maybe the separation would not be as painful as I thought it would be. Maybe the sooner he left, the better I would feel. I was no longer pining after Christine so maybe I could somehow find solace in solitude.

I lifted him up and carried him in my arms. Those maybes suddenly became obviously lies. Raoul belonged in my arms. There was no doubt about it. His warmth, his scent, his feel all belonged with me. Instead of placing him back on the bed as I wanted, I headed out. I tried to console myself with the thought that he would still be in my opera house for one more week. I would be able to watch him still. However, I would not be able to eat with him or worse I would not be able to touch him. I would not know where he was at all times. Or maybe I could.

I set him down when we reached an exit. This hallway was usually empty. I hated using exits that led directly into the hallway since it was always more of a liability for me, but I did not think that Raoul would be able to handle more of the physically demanding exits. I checked if anyone was around and opened the passage when it was clear.

Helping him out, he quickly scanned the area. It was a place he knew well. His box seat was nearby. I grabbed his face so that he would look at me instead of being distracted by the scenery. We were saying good-bye, the least thing he could do is look at me. I slid my hand to hold his neck. He did not protest, so I kept it there.

I knew a way to keep track of him, "Watch Christine while you're here. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her." At least this way, not only would I know where he was, I could make sure his brother did not meet too often with her. I was still wary of their liaison. If Raoul were there, they would hopefully not plan anything.

Raoul looked at me oddly. It was an odd request, but he nodded.

"Seven days," I reminded him and memorized the feel of his skin before leaving. I stayed behind the wall and watched him. It was hard to not be out there.

He looked around once more and stepped forward. Evidently, he had forgotten he could not walk and fell to the ground. I held myself back and forced myself to just watch. I was just an observer, wasn't I? I had always considered myself to be held apart so why did it feel so wrong to hold back now?

Raoul sat on the floor pouting. He looked around again before yelling, "I can't walk, you bastard!" I smiled a little. At least he was still passionate. He had not lost his spirit like I thought he had when he had been with me. He muttered to himself, "You could have at least left me where someone would find me."

Here I thought I was doing him a favour by giving him an easy exit. Still, I watched a little torn. I was happy to see him acting like the spirited Raoul from before, but I wanted him to be that way with me.

He sat there ruminating in his thoughts before using the wall to begin his journey towards the main hall. I followed him and held myself back from helping him. He finally made it though when Madame Giry saw him.

"Vicomte!" she yelled rushing to his side. I was envious of her. She could openly touch him. He did not even flinch. So, it was just me.

Her yell seemed to have echoed since the managers came running out.

"Vicomte."

I had forgotten that he had to be the Vicomte. Looking at him, he realized it too. He nodded to them curtly.

As though he had a speech already prepared, he said confidently, "Sorry for my absence. I had been roughed up and left to wander some tunnels. I barely made my way out of that labyrinth."

I wondered when he had thought of that lie. He had looked to be in too much pain and too focused to have even worried about having to lie. This was not Raoul though. This was the Vicomte.

The managers expressed their relief and their praise of his ingenuity. I rolled my eyes, and frowned when I saw him smile gratefully to them. He could smile. I took some consolation in the fact that the smile was so obviously forced.

"You must want to go home right away," Andre stated. I waited to see what he would do. Did the Vicomte have another lie ready to tell?

He shook his head, "After what the Opera Ghost has done?" He stated firmly, "I need to watch Christine to make certain that nothing happens to her. That fiend may do something. He already ruined the masquerade." He said it with enough conviction for me to be annoyed. Was this how he really felt?

I watched him, but the truth was that I could barely catch glimpses of Raoul there. At times, when I could tell the pain was too much, I could see Raoul. I could see the man who was hurting and who did not mind being helped. I knew that Raoul could not survive as only Raoul so why did I not want him to ever play the Vicomte?

The managers looked uncertain as did Madame Giry. Madame Giry especially seemed suspicious of his story, which was to be expected since I had used her to obtain the bandages. She knew that I had more to do with the Vicomte's disappearance than simply leaving him in a tunnel. As though I would ever leave anyone to roam freely in my passageways.

Firmin was about to reply when I heard a voice that made Raoul stiffen. I was automatically wary as well.

"He's right," the Comte strolled up, "He should remain here."

The Comte had been roaming free in my opera house. I knew it, but I had not had it in my power to stop him. I had been… preoccupied. Now, though I would have some free time. I glanced at Raoul who was standing stiffly. I knew his wound had to be hurting since he was so tense. I suddenly doubted I would have free time. Not when my thoughts were consumed with Raoul's safety.

I noticed that the managers did not know what to say. They simply nodded their heads. I had always thought them to be weak. The Comte was taking complete control of the opera house. Not even Firmin's greed seemed to impede the Comte's takeover. They were simply disappointments.

The Comte walked up to Raoul and hugged him too tightly. I could see the muscles in Raoul's neck tense, but other than that, he made no other indication of being hurt. I wondered how he had managed. He had been wincing and cringing so much when he had been with me. How could he hide it so easily now?

"I'm so glad you have returned. We must talk." The Comte spoke.

Raoul smiled and nodded enthusiastically. That was Raoul. It seemed when his brother was present, Raoul could not play the arrogant, unconcerned Vicomte. He was not quite the Raoul I knew though. When I thought of Raoul, I thought of that day a month ago. I thought of a smiling, blushing, passionate Raoul. This was the Raoul who had been injured in my home. He was submissive and docile. He was the one who had come to the masquerade with the single mindedness that had surprised me. This was Raoul as the younger brother.

The Comte grabbed his arm and squeezed so tightly he almost winced. I banged against the wall. Luckily, it made no sound. I wanted to protect Raoul. What was I doing behind this wall? I followed them when they moved away from the managers and Madame Giry.

The Comte was practically dragging him the moment they were out of sight. I trusted that he would not do anything. Any more wounds would be easily seen. If he so much as shed a single drop of blood, I would kill him without a thought of what Raoul wanted.

"Where have you been?" The Comte whispered angrily.

Raoul kept a straight face and replied, "The Opera Ghost had taken the ring. I went to retrieve it." He seemed so emotionless. I did not like to see him act like this. At least with the Vicomte, he had some confidence in him. Raoul was acting as though he had nothing in him.

The Comte looked unimpressed, "And did you?"

"No," he said it blandly still.

"What happened?"

I wanted to know what he would say. The Vicomte was a liar. I wondered how this Raoul would respond. "He knocked me out."

"You fainted," the Comte interpreted. There was no response from him.

"I woke up trapped in another room," he spoke with an even tone. He _had_ been a prisoner of sorts. Evidently, this Raoul twisted the truth into lies. "It seemed like a storage room," that had been an outright lie, but he pressed forward not letting his face or tone of voice change, "I searched for an exit but could find none. I went through his things and got these clothes and tore up others for the bandaging."

The Comte did not believe him for one second. He could see through the lie, but he was holding his tongue. He knew that I had something to do with his escape and his new desire to stay in the opera house.

"How did you escape?" He asked irately.

"He let me go."

The Comte stared at him calculating. He believed that statement. "Why?"

Raoul shook his head. "I don't know."

"Why are you staying?" He pressed. The Comte definitely did not believe his story. Raoul did not seem to notice though. Was he so blind to his brother's thoughts?

"He said something about taking her," he replied. Adding, "I broke the engagement off. I swear. I just don't want anything bad to happen to her."

The Comte scoffed. "Though your stupidity is always astounding, it would be best for business if she was not kidnapped again. Stay and be her saviour." He added mockingly. The Comte was planning something. He knew that I wanted Raoul to stay in the opera house. That much was obvious. I did not know if he had concluded about anything else, like why I had taken him in the first place. He turned to walk away, but Raoul stopped him.

"Brother."

He turned around. The look in his eyes made me hope that Raoul had a good reason for stopping him or else that blood may just be spilt.

"Please tell mother that I am okay. She must be worried," Raoul finally showed some emotion. He shrugged a bit. He really must have cared for his mother. The Comte had used her health to lure Raoul home that day. Now, he faced the Comte's wrath to send a false message of his well-being. I wondered if she knew what was happening to her son. I was pessimistic about mothers. I doubted his mother cared for him. Surely, she would have noticed some of his scars. Did she not notice that he had been missing for a month and had returned in pain? I did not trust Raoul's family. There were too many inconsistencies.

I hoped I was erroneous for Raoul's sake. He seemed so invested in her love.

The Comte nodded and left. He was left alone again. I wanted to change my mind and take him back right then. No, he would have his freedom. I would check to see if he was indeed happier when he was 'free.' I hated myself for thinking it, but I hoped he was not. I would keep my word though. If he managed to stay just seven days under my observation, I would give him the ring. I would give away the one thing that tied us together.

I was glad that Madame Giry suddenly appeared. She would take care of him. She would understand that he was injured and needed more attention than usual.

"Madame Giry," he said pleasantly, "has the opera house been well?"

He was back to being the patron. At least that was better than the Vicomte. A thought suddenly occurred to me. Without Raoul, did that mean I was going to act like the Opera Ghost once more? I had no reason to be kind. I had no reason to be gentle. Nothing had changed really. I was still reluctant to play that role though.

Then again, there was Don Juan Triumphant. What to do with my opera? I had written it to have Christine. I no longer wanted her. It was still a masterpiece though. I had spent time and talent on that piece. I would still like to see it performed. Perhaps the opera house would remain unscathed though.

Madame Giry nodded to his question but looked at him appraisingly. She was trying to gauge how injured he was. I had asked for many bandages. I was certain she was wondering how badly he could be injured if he looked the way he looked now. I was almost convinced that he was not injured. He showed absolutely no signs of pain. She firmly grabbed his arm and led him away. I frowned at her for touching him so freely.

"Did the Opera Ghost harm you?" You could at least trust Madame Giry to be straightforward.

He shook his head. He was watching her warily. I was pleased to see that he did not trust her. I did not want him to trust anyone. Everyone could potentially hurt him. I did not want him to be so innocent with others. That was quite the oxymoron. I could not expect him to only be naïve with me. It was both an asset and a weakness but he could not choose with whom to be naïve.

"I will show you a place where you can stay."

I was relieved that he would at least have a bed to stay in which to sleep.

To my dismay, he shook his head, "I need to look after Christine."

Madame Giry mirrored the look I had when she looked at him worriedly, "What did he say?" I was a bit indignant at her question.

"I have to look after her, Madame Giry," he restated earnestly.

She relented, "Christine is either on stage or in her room. When she is practicing, you may watch from your balcony seat. When she is in her room, you are to be outside. I will provide a chair."

He nodded his head. I was annoyed. A chair was going to be horrible for his injuries. What was he thinking? I was not actually going to chastise him for not sleeping right outside her door. He looked determined though.

I could not help but be relieved that that _was_ Raoul.

o.o.o

The next six days passed rather uneventfully.

I followed Raoul as he followed Christine. I was pleased to see that he was healing rather well. The fact that he was sleeping in a chair did no harm to him, as far as I could tell. He looked to be happy, but I could not tell. He was alone most of the time, and when left alone, he would stare in the general direction of Christine and just think.

Christine and Raoul did not exchange a single word. I did not doubt Raoul when he said that he had broken off the engagement for good, but it was a relief to see that there was no affection at all between them. He only focused on her. I _did_ tell him to watch her, but I did not mean so closely. He looked at her fondly at times. I knew he cared for her as a friend still, but I could not help the jealousy that arose every time he wasted that look on her. Christine was still angry with him, but I could tell that she was getting more annoyed since with Raoul following her, the Comte did not speak to her as much. I found that his consolation had been quite regular the four days that Raoul had been missing.

I was angry with the Comte. I was angry that he was still alive. He had made himself scarce again. He would always be with others. Most of the time it was the managers, which only served to anger me further. He was taking over as the patron. I wondered why Raoul did not do anything, but I doubted that he ever would stand up against his brother. The age of some of those scars said he had been subjugated most of his life. He would never find it in him to escape. I reached a simple solution to both our problems. I would kill the Comte. Problem solved.

I was angry with Raoul, too. He appeared to be fine. I wanted him to need me. Maybe I had been mistaken all along in thinking that he needed me. I did not lose hope though. His brother had brought him a change of clothes, but at night when Raoul thought that no one was looking, he would put on my shirt. Not only that though, he would smile wistfully and sigh.

That had to mean he thought of me. It had to mean that I meant something to him. On the other hand, it could just mean that he was cold at night. I hated that voice of practicality. Why couldn't I just believe in the idealistic thoughts?

As I did every night, I was watching Raoul sleep on the morn of the seventh day when I saw a hooded figure enter Christine's room. I slipped through the passages in time to see that it was the Comte. Christine had a single candle burning, but I was certain that it was he. They shared whispered words.

The Comte hugged her gently, "Let's go."

Christine looked a little reluctant, "Are you certain we should?"

"I've asked you everyday this week for us to go, and you've kept putting it off."

I wondered when they had had the opportunity to talk. It was true that I was distracted by Raoul most of the time, but I had thought I would notice if someone were speaking to Christine. However, it appeared that I had been rather negligent. The Comte was planning something. He wanted to get my attention, and he knew with my past record that Christine was the way to go about it. He also knew that I wanted Raoul to watch Christine. I would play his game, but I would come out it the victor.

Christine nodded and pulled on her coat, "Let's go."

They blew out the candle and left. I hurriedly ran before them. Reaching the carriage, I incapacitated the driver and hid him. I momentarily worried what Raoul would do. I hoped he would sleep through the morning. I had business with these two and I would rather not have him present to see it.

It was better this way.

The Comte and Christine entered the carriage and ordered me to go to the cemetery.

They were making this almost too easy for me.

I drove away from my home and from the one I loved. I would be a murderer one more time… maybe two more times.

o.o.o

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End ch16

word count: 14,906

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review:

Another obscenely long chapter. That last line kind of made me laugh.

Story review:

Wait for the next installment to see if anyone dies!

Note to self: I am never writing another chapter this long! It was a pain. They're not even happy together!

More action next chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. How to break a man.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: shorter chapter but a lot happens to Raoul here.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 17

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

Madame Giry was kind enough to provide me food and a blanket when night fell. The chair was far from comfortable, but I was still tired so I hardly cared.

In the early hours before the sun rose on the seventh day, I woke suddenly. Nothing seemed amiss though. I listened closely to hear if some sound had woken me, but heard nothing. I looked at Christine's room. The door was ajar. I quickly checked inside and found it to be empty. I heard a carriage leaving and rushed downstairs. I hesitated by the door. The Phantom had said to stay inside the building, but he had also said to watch her. I didn't know what to do.

I heard the carriage moving further. I rushed out. I had to watch over her. Asking the carriage driver where she had been heading, I cursed when I heard the cemetery. Of all the places to go before the sun rose, why would she have chosen to visit her father's grave? And now of all times. I jumped on a horse and made chase.

There went any hope of obtaining the ring. I hoped Erik would not find out.

o.o.o

Walking was one thing, but riding a horse pulled on my wound painfully, and I had been a little too eager in mounting. It mattered not though. I had decided that I had to follow Christine and I would not turn back now. I could not deny that I had a bad feeling about this. Why would Christine go to the cemetery right now? She must have known that I was following her. She glared at me often enough for me to think so. Maybe that was the reason why she had decided to go so early in the morning. I could understand the feeling of wanting to be alone. I wanted to escape from Philippe like that often.

I chased after the carriage but it moved surprisingly fast, and the faster I rode the more in pain I was. I had to slow down for the sake of my wounds. Nothing bad would happen to Christine for just a little bit. I could very well just be paranoid. However, when I slowed down, I finally realized that it was chilly. I had not put on a coat in my hurry. My adrenaline had been high so I had not realized how cold it had been. My thoughts had been elsewhere. I had been so conflicted; I had thought of nothing else. Now, I was freezing. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and rubbed my arms. It was none too brilliant to go out dressed as I was in such weather, but I needed to be out here.

I was still torn about my decision though. I had decided, but I wish I had not needed to. Erik would hate me now. That was the last thing I wanted, but Christine was still a friend, right? I could not shake off the feeling that something terribly bad was going to happen. Should I care though? Christine did not even consider me a friend. I was certain she hated me actually. I had broken off the engagement of which she had been so eager. She had wanted so badly to be a Vicomtess. In fact, she had wanted to be a Vicomtess more than she had wanted to be my wife. She had not even loved me. At least, that was what it seemed to me. I could be wrong since she looked rather hurt when I broke the engagement. She had not seemed to have any problems getting back into the spirit of the masquerade though. I could not lie to her any longer anyway. She had never really seen me, and I doubted that she ever wanted to.

Why _did_ I still care for her? I should not. Nothing in our past could erase what she was like in the present. If I hated her, would I not be just like Philippe then? Philippe hated a lot of people. He hurt a lot of people. I could neither hate nor hurt anyone. Yet, I knew that I should not care for Christine. If I thought about it, she was not a very nice person. She had been using me and would have gone on using me had I not broken it off. I did not regret breaking off the engagement with her. However, it was easier to only see what I wanted in her. It was easier to think of her kindly. It was easier to pretend other people cared and were better than they actually were. It was easy to imagine that they truly meant well, that they truly cared for me, that they truly wanted me. I needed to stop that. I needed to stop deluding myself. Not only did she never care for me, but she was also going to take Erik away from me. In a choice between Christine and Erik, I would choose Erik without ever once having a single regret.

I had been thinking of him constantly. He may not want me, but it did not diminish the fact that I wanted him rather desperately. I had finally found the one who knew all my secrets. I had not needed to play a role around him. I had been myself, or as much of myself as I could have been. I had been searching all my life for that one person, and I finally found him. I found him, so how could I not want to be with him.

It had hurt to think that we would never be anything more, but maybe I had been too hasty to ask for our separation. Maybe I should not have been so selfish. I should not have wanted more. I should have been happy to be around him at all. He had cared for my wounds and had shown no signs of wanting me to leave. He had not shown any signs that he wanted me to stay either. He told me to leave because I had asked him. Had I not been so stupid I would have been with him still. If I had stopped being so selfish, we could have still been together.

It was easy to say it now, but I remembered how much it had hurt to know that it had only been temporary. I remembered how much it hurt to see him everyday and think to myself Christine would have this. She would wake up to him every morning and I would wake up alone. I remembered the wistfulness with which I experienced it all because though I felt joy, I could not hope for anything more. I could not forget. It was easy to say what I could have changed. It was easy to guess what could have happened because I could not be disappointed if I were wrong. It would never happen, but the thought of a better path somehow soothed me. It made life a little easier when I could imagine that something better could have happened. I could imagine that life was not so cruel. It was simply some bad decisions I had made. I did not know why, but the thought that the hardships I faced were only due to my own faults made moving forward a little less painful. It was odd and probably the contrary of what most people thought, but at least I could believe that I had some control over my life. I could believe that I was actively making choices and not that some cruel hand of fate or Philippe was controlling me. I could hope that there was something better if I just learned how to become a better person. If I could just learn to make better decisions, life would be kinder to me. Things would work out.

I was hurting now because of the decisions I had made. I left Erik willingly. Had I been stronger, had I been better, had I made better decisions, we would still be together. I believed that. Now, I was actively making a decision to act contrary to him once more. I was chasing after Christine. I had left the opera house even though he had told me not to. I was not sure if I had done so to be closer or further from him. By chasing after Christine, I was actively disobeying him. It meant that he would either have to deal with me more or he would hurt or kill me. I was not sure which one was better.

I logically knew which one was better. I just did not want the choices to be limited to such bleak options. I had chosen to chase after Christine over staying in the opera house despite my fear of Philippe. I did not want to be under his control anymore. I did not want to be chained in the cellar ever again. I wanted to get the ring back so I could avoid all of that. However, I had realized that I would suffer through it all again, if it meant that I could find a reason to be involved with Erik. I would sabotage every opportunity to get the ring if it meant I could still chase him and he would still acknowledge me. It was pathetic really.

I wanted him to be happy. It was why I had been willing to let him have Christine. Now, I knew I wanted _him_ but I only wanted him to be happy with me. Fine, call me selfish. I could not seem to stop being selfish. Being selfish had driven him away, but now I hoped that it would bring us together. I could not bring myself to not want him. I did not want to stop.

I wanted him. It was a simple fact. I had to move forward. I had to make better choices. I wanted us to be together, but what could I do? Was it enough that I wanted him? Maybe with time he would learn to accept my presence. I needed time though. Time I did not have if Christine were to get to him tonight.

Finally reaching the cemetery, I pushed my thoughts down. I would worry about such things later. I first had to find her.

I dismounted at the gate by the now empty carriage and walked into the dark cemetery. I had no idea where the Daae mausoleum was. I picked up speed, rushing past graves anyway. I did not like it here. It was foreboding and the visibility was so low I could not see more than a few feet in front of me. The cemetery was so large. So many deaths around me. I wondered when I would be lost to the world. When would I become just a name on a gravestone? Would anyone come and visit my grave? I knew my mother would visit me. I doubted that Philippe would. I hoped that Erik would but he really had no reason to. I hoped Christine would, just for the sake of remembering times that had been better.

The scary part was when I began to wonder if I were alive at all. Raoul did not exist in anyone's mind but my own. Existence is acknowledgement. Not acknowledgement from one person though, but from the general consensus. Could I be alive if no one was there to acknowledge me?

I was shivering and having thoughts of making my own grave right now. I could not stay here any longer. I needed to find Christine, and I needed to find her now. Wandering aimlessly in the fog, I was about to lose hope of ever finding her when I heard a voice. Erik. Of course, I would abandon my search for Christine if Erik were around. I moved towards the voice and from the distance, I could barely make out his figure on the mausoleum, but I could see a second figure as well. From so far away though, all I could see were blurry shapes.

He was calling to who I was certain had to be Christine. Whom else would he be calling? Upon approaching, I saw her. She looked to be in a daze, which I thought odd. I knew that she did not believe that he was her father. She did not think him to be an angel either. She had said as much. She admitted herself that he was just a man. Moreover, he had been her tutor. She could recognize his voice, but as I listened longer, I began to lose myself to his voice. It was hypnotic. It was entrancing. I forgot why I had come here in the first place. I knew that it had been something important, but it no longer seemed to matter. All I knew was that I had to get to that voice. It was where I belonged. It was calling to me and I moved forward to answer its call. All I could think was that this was Erik. Erik was calling to me.

I moved closer and Christine became clearer. She was standing in front of her family mausoleum also walking closer to Erik.

On impulse, I called out to her, "Christine!"

Erik stopped singing and I came to my senses. I had just revealed myself to him, but I had also ruined whatever plan he had been putting into effect to get Christine. I was in so much trouble. I should not have interfered, but that wave of jealousy had hit me rather unexpectedly.

I had never thought myself to be a jealous person. Then again, I had never really cared for anyone this much. I had been jealous with Christine for a while, but that had been rather short-lived. That jealousy had been replaced by desperation. I had tried to hold onto her too long. I had tried to delude myself, but that had ended. I had resolved to stop doing so. However, seeing Christine going to him struck something in me. It was a new emotion. I felt possessive. I felt as though Erik belonged to me. I knew that I never wanted to see her with him.

I looked around worriedly. Erik had disappeared. Christine was looking at me rather annoyed. I winced. My desires though had nothing to do with reality. Erik wanted her. I had given him permission. She had probably wanted to go to him as well. What was I doing? I wanted him to be happy, and he would not be with me. They wanted each other and I was only standing in the way. I had only ever been in the way.

I rushed to Christine anyway. "Are you okay?" I asked concernedly. There may be a slight chance she had not wanted to go to him.

She glared at me. I was wrong again. "What do you think you're doing?"

I looked at her helplessly. I offered rather hesitantly, "That wasn't your father."

She looked exasperated, "You have no claim on me. Leave me be."

"I-," What could I possibly say, "I'm sorry."

She was about to respond when she suddenly screamed. I did not have time to react because I was grabbed from behind and dragged away. Suddenly Christine was gone and the cemetery was rushing past me. A cloak swirled around me and a leather-clad hand was clasped over my mouth.

I did not struggle. I worried about my wounds. I worried more about this meeting. I had done so many things wrong this very morning. I did not think there was any way to explain myself.

I was carried a good distance before both of us fell against a headstone. I was wrapped in his cloak and had been pushed against his arm. There was nowhere to go. There was the headstone behind me and a warm solid body in front of me. I was in a half embrace that could have been regarded as a rather warm cage. A small part of me had enough time to be surprised that he had not once jarred any of my wounds at all. It had probably been just luck though. My eyes adjusted to the dimness and I finally saw Erik for the first time in a week. I did the only thing that seemed appropriate and smiled at him. I had wanted to see him and now here he was before me. It was not quite how I imagined it since he looked rather angry, but I was not very picky.

I waited for him to release me, but instead he remained leaning on me. I was glad though since this was the first time since I had left the opera house that I was beginning to feel warm. I was getting feeling back into my limbs. I looked at him appreciatively hoping to convey my thanks. However, I realized that he probably thought that I was going to try to run away if he let go. I had to stop deluding myself into reading signs that were not there. I was thankful though that he was not putting excess pressure on my wound or my back. Actually, he could have been, but I was rather distracted by the fact that he was touching me at all.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered harshly, anger evident in his voice.

"Well," I tried to reason, "I followed Christine."

He opened his mouth to retort when he must have realized he had told me to follow her. Instead, he said, "You were to stay within the opera house."

I looked away ashamed. He sounded disappointed with me and I hated it. He probably thought I would finally be out of his way, but I had only ruined it by leaving the opera house when there had only been one day left.

I shrugged. It was done. I could not do anything about it, "I'm sorry." I could not meet his eyes, "Something felt wrong about her disappearance."

He stood there staring at me, and I wondered if he was going to kill me. I would definitely be out of his way completely if he did that. I sighed; maybe it would be better if he did.

I had to stop these mood swings. I had come here resolved to do two things: retrieve Christine and retrieve Erik. The first one had been the obvious reason. The second one I had impulsively decided when I had heard him singing. I did not know if I had any right to retrieve him. I had not even known if he would be here, but where there was Christine, there would be Erik. That thought hurt. Thinking it like that, I realized how useless my effort really was. Erik wanted Christine. He had always wanted Christine.

I would have to be content with my imagination. I could believe that Erik would have loved me if Christine had never come between us. I could believe that Erik had focused on Christine for so long that he could not recognize that I was the person with whom he belonged. I could not act on it, but there was nothing to the contrary that could make me stop believing it.

Without saying another word, he tugged me forward and half carried me back towards where I assumed Christine to be. The way he was holding me almost ensured that I would not feel the cold at all. It was as though he were sharing his body's heat with me. I blushed at the thought, but knew that to be a construct of my imagination as well. Why would he do that?

He stopped in front of the Daae mausoleum and released me so that we stood face to face.

"Take her back in the carriage," he ordered. I could not read him at all. He gave no indication if he was angry or not. So, I nodded but hoped that we would be able to negotiate about the ring. Maybe we could meet some other time.

His next words shattered that hope, "The deal has ended. You have failed."

I looked at him sadly when Erik suddenly swung his cloak behind me and roughly pushed me away. I fell head over feet, tumbling until a headstone stopped me some distance away. I could not breathe and my head was still spinning. My back and my abdomen throbbed painfully. What the hell? Why had he done that? I pulled the cloak that had caught on my arm around me and stumbled to my feet. I could not see anyone. I looked through the mist searching for him. It was then that I heard the clash of swords. Searching desperately, I raced towards the sounds.

At first, I could not tell with whom Erik was fighting. Then I heard them yelling. I could not quite hear the words, but I knew who it was. I wanted to interfere but I had no weapon. Either way, I did not know for whom to fight. Erik or Philippe. I wanted to help Erik but the repercussions of doing so would be harsh. I did not actually think either needed my help.

I wondered what Philippe was doing here and how he found us. He must have hired someone to follow me so that he could keep track of where I was. It was something Philippe would do. Why was he attacking Erik though? I was certain that he had heard stories of the opera ghost. Who had not? Then I remembered that Madame Giry mentioned telling Philippe about my kidnapping. He would know all about the Phantom and how the Opera Populaire had been terrorized by him all these years. Now that he was taking over as patron, it was without a doubt the reason why he was trying to kill Erik now. Philippe liked opposition, but only so he could destroy someone.

I stayed low to the ground hoping the cloak would provide cover. I crawled closer and hid behind a headstone wondering what I should do. I wondered where Christine was. I had better follow what Erik told me to do and take her away. It was too dangerous.

Not seeing her, I decided to move closer to the battle. I wanted to see Erik one more time. I wanted to make sure that he would be okay. I had seen Philippe fight and he rarely played fair. However, Erik was not known to fight fair either. Maybe he would be just fine. I came close enough so that I could finally make out the words of their conversation as they fought. Philippe was eluding Erik keeping at least a few graves between them.

"Raoul is _my_ pawn," I heard Philippe state. My chest suddenly hurt. I sat down and looked away from the fight. It felt as though I had been dealt a blow. I was a pawn. I had always felt like one, but hearing it from my brother was so much worse. At least when I thought it, I could always hope that it was just my imagination. It was not my imagination though. I was really just a pawn to him. I huddled against the headstone and pulled the cloak tighter around me. Philippe continued, and I felt as though he were physically disciplining me once more, "I trained him. I gave him his life. I will be the only one to take it away."

I could not believe what I was hearing. I felt sick suddenly. I had always hoped that somewhere deep inside, Philippe thought of me as his little brother. I had hoped that he cared for me in some way. I had been naïve to think that he had only been bad at expressing his true emotions. He had in fact been able to express himself rather easily. I had thought he had been stuck in his own roles. I thought there had been a Philippe underneath it all that had wanted to protect me. I pulled my knees closer to my chest. It hurt so much.

I smiled sadly to myself. I had thought Philippe could only hurt me physically. So, why did this hurt so much? I had to concentrate though. This was not his fault. He had never given me any indication of loving me. It was my fault. I could move on from this. I had to move on from this. It actually changed nothing. I would still be afraid of Philippe. I would still consider Philippe to be my brother. The only thing that was different was that stupid false hope I had let myself have. I would no longer believe that Philippe would one day treat me nicely. I understood now that it was stupid to hope for things like that. It was okay though. I would survive. I would move on. If I kept repeating these thoughts, I would hopefully eventually believe them. I would not expect anything from him ever again. I would in fact prove him wrong when he thought of me as a mere pawn. I had other people to live for besides him.

I had Erik. I had my thoughts about him. I had opportunities to interact with him even if he was with Christine. I was still involved with the Opera Populaire; for who knew how long, but I could still visit. I even had Christine in a way. We had betrayed each other rather equally, and since I could not bring myself to hate her, I considered her closer to me than anyone else. I had my mother. I had to care for her. I had to act as the buffer between her and Philippe's anger. I had reasons to keep going. I had reasons to push forward and become a better person. Philippe could not destroy me completely.

I steeled myself before turning around to watch them fight again. Erik suddenly closed the distance between them. I wondered from where that burst of speed had come. Had he been holding back? Their swords clashed and seemed suspended in motion. Erik grabbed the hilt of Philippe's sword the same time Philippe grabbed his. They stared at each other in pure hatred. It was incredible to see. They had barely known each other, yet they could hate each other so much. I wondered what that was like. I could never find it in me to hate anyone. I could not even find it in me to hate Philippe. They had so much passion while I had so little. I had always known that Erik had passion. Anyone could tell from the music he played and composed. I was surprised that Philippe had it though. His life was apparently only that of the role of Comte. How could he have passion? Yet, he did. He was filled with some energy that I seemed to lack. I was slowly losing what energy I did have. These roles only drained me. How could it be that Philippe had so much in him when I felt as though I barely had anything?

I heard Philippe growl, "You think you can win?"

It was just like Philippe to be that cocky. I hoped that Erik would win. I still could not hope for Philippe to die, but I hoped he would lose this battle. It seemed to be a stalemate though. Their eyes were locked just as their swords.

Erik growled back, "Raoul is no longer your pawn." I mentally cheered. The idea of being free seemed closer when I had Erik fighting for me. A kick to Philippe's stomach had him flying backwards. I would be free of him. I almost could not believe it. Erik's next words however made me realize that I should not believe it. "He's mine."

The joy I had felt disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. So, it was true. I could not believe I had been so foolish to hope again. Again. I had been naïve again. I had wanted Erik to want me. I had wanted Erik to protect me. What was I thinking? Erik was only fighting to free me from Philippe's grasp so that I could be in his own. I was easier to control than Philippe that was certain. He did not want Philippe to run his opera house.

I knew that in some way I could see this beneficially. At least, it meant that Erik wanted me. After Philippe's betrayal, I could not so blatantly ignore what Erik was obviously saying. I was a pawn to him as well. I stared blankly at them while this thought settled in my mind. Then, my chest began to hurt. I grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled it forward. I could not breathe. It was suddenly too hot. Gasping for air, I felt as though I were suffocating. I fell onto my hands and knees feeling the weight of a burden I could not see. It was too heavy. I was too weak. I closed my eyes and bit my lip.

I felt sick again. I started to heave. My abdomen contracted spastically. My wound felt as though it were going to rip apart. I thought I was going to throw up. However, nothing came out. Why was I losing whatever composure I had gained? I began to crawl away from the battle. I needed to get away. I needed to get away from all illusions I had made. There had to be some hope though. There had to be something, someone out there for me. I still had my mother. I had to go home to her. I had not seen her in almost two weeks. I was certain she was worried. I still had Christine. Christine was somewhere in this cemetery and she needed my help. I had to take her back to the opera house. I had to bring myself together. I had to find a way to get through this. However, it felt as though my world had just fallen apart. It felt as though everything I had once believed in was gone. That could not be the truth though.

I crawled past graves wishing that resting in peace could be so easy.

Two painful facts of my life had been exposed. The layers of pretty, comforting deceit had been torn away to reveal what I had been trying to keep from myself.

I could bury those lies with the dead. I dragged myself further away and the sounds of their scuffle seemed to fade.

Philippe was no brother of mine. He was simply a slave driver. He treated me poorly because he wanted to. He injured me because he wanted to. He never had any of my interests in mind.

Erik was no love of my life. He was not the person I had hoped to find. Wait, that was not the truth that had been revealed though. I could not convince myself into believing a lie so blatant. The real truth was that though he may be the one I so desperately needed, I was not who he needed. He may know my secrets, but he would only use them to hurt me. When he had banished me from his side, he had used Philippe against me. I should have realized it then, but I had not wanted to. He had been so nice.

I had not once actually thought that finding the person I dreamt of would not turn out the way I had planned. I had been stupid enough to believe that everything would be perfect; that things would just fall in to place. It was obvious that was false. Erik was merely a puppeteer; one that I had trusted and in the short while I had known him, with whom I had fallen completely in love. I had already begun to depend on him.

It was painful to think that he was like Philippe. It seemed apparent now that it was the truth though. I was nothing but a pawn to either of them.

I could not tell how far I had gotten. My limbs felt so weak. My hands were numb from crawling on the snow, but I did not want to stop just yet. I could not even stand up since my stomach heaved sporadically. I could not stop. At least the motion provided some reprieve from my thoughts. At least some part of me could be numb from what was happening.

With Philippe, I had somehow just been able to accept it. I had been able to accept that the delusion I had created was simply false. It had hurt, but there had been other things for which to hope. There had been Erik.

With Erik, it felt as though there was nothing else now. I had to accept that the delusion was false, but what else was there to believe in now? What shred of sanity could I hold onto to survive this life? I did not want to move on when I felt that there was nothing left for me. I could not do it. Life was too painful. It was too cruel. There were others. They paled in comparison to the hope I had felt with him. I had to take care of my mother. She depended on me still. She loved me. I could not let her down. There was Christine. She neither depended on me nor loved me, but I still could not bring myself to let her down. If she needed help, I would help her.

I was a man. I needed to take responsibility for my life. I had to depend only on myself. I needed to be able to stand on my own two feet. Raoul… who was Raoul? I had to decide that now. I had to decide who this Raoul person was that I so hoped existed.

I stopped moving and simply knelt in the snow with my face upturned to the sky. With eyes closed, I focused on just this moment and not what had happened moments before.

Raoul was caring and gentle. He was no pushover though. Raoul would protect everyone, not only those dear to him. He would protect them because the weak needed saviours and he knew how hopeless weakness could be. Those who held a special place in his heart, he would die to protect. Currently only two resided in his heart: his mother who had been devoted to him and Christine whose memory had sustained him for such a long time. He would never hurt anyone because Raoul would never be Philippe. He would listen to his own heart. He would be independent and strong. I was Raoul. I would move on from this and learn to be stronger and more self-reliant. This was who I was. I could not be anyone else. I had to stop lying. I had to stop playing these roles before Raoul vanished.

My breathing had slowed. I felt better. I would be okay. I would live through this simply because I had to. I stood up slowly. I spun around quickly when I heard a scream. It had been Christine. I had not gotten far from the tussle and quickly jumped over graves to reach them. I would protect her. I could not see anyone else be hurt. I did not want to see anyone die. It was who I was.

Christine was on the floor where I assumed she had been pushed.

Philippe was on the floor trying to get his bearings. Evidently Christine had been pushed by Erik. It surprised me to see that Christine had helped Philippe. Erik looked livid. He glared at Christine and then at Philippe. Seeing me just standing there, something flickered across his expression. I could not tell what exactly it had been.

I thought when I looked at him I would see someone else. I thought I would not see the Erik who had taken care of me. I thought I would only see the fact that he had been using me. I thought I would look at him differently, but I did not. He was still Erik. He was still the man I loved. He was still the man that had helped me heal. He had been the man who had taken me away from Philippe and given me a reprieve. Why couldn't my heart understand that it would only be hurt more if I cared for him? I understood it logically. Still, I wanted to go to him and take him away from all of this. I stayed my ground though. No more.

Suddenly he stalked toward Christine and pulled her roughly up. I thought he was going to take her and just leave. It would have been the smart thing to do. He would finally have Christine and Philippe would have been beaten. Instead, he pushed her towards me.

"Take her and go," he ordered.

I caught Christine before she could fall. She steadied herself and then moved behind me in fear. Was she afraid of him? He did seem angry, but she should not have to worry about that. He was in love with her.

I wanted to protest, but could not find a reason to stay. I could not stay for Philippe or Erik. They saw me as nothing but a pawn. As I turned and began to run towards the carriage, Christine in tow, I tried to convince myself that I did not care what happened to either of them. Raoul was a caring person though. I had to save Christine first, and then I would return. I would stop their fight before anyone else got hurt.

I quickly helped Christine up into the carriage. She seemed quite shaken up by the whole ordeal. She probably had not thought that a visit to her father's grave would turn out so horribly. She sat there frozen in fear.

"Take the carriage to the opera house, now," I told her.

She looked at me strangely as if she had not realized I had been the one who had helped her. I took the reins and shoved them into her hands. She looked down at them and nodded absently. I waited until she had the horses moving before getting on my horse and riding back to the fight.

I hoped that no one was dead yet.

I held back when I neared. They were still fighting. Erik was being pushed back. Their swords were clashing viciously and Philippe was aggressively driving Erik back. Erik could not seem to find the advantage to move away from the defensive. I could see what Philippe was planning. He was pushing Erik against the mausoleum. It was large enough to impede much of his maneuverability and once Erik no longer had space to retreat, Philippe would kill him. I doubted it would work though. Erik was strong and in a corner, I believed that he would only get stronger.

I wondered how I was going to break them apart. Did I have any right to do so? They so desperately wanted to hurt each other. I could not understand from where all that enmity had come. I could not understand it at all. Maybe they were too similar.

The longer I watched them fight, the more wrong something felt. Erik was fighting rather awkwardly. His parries were hardly deflecting Philippe's attacks. It was then that I saw the red trail in the snow. I had ignored it completely engrossed in the battle. Erik was bleeding. I could not see where he had been struck, but I could tell that it was going to be quite the nasty wound.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I saw Erik trapped against the wall of the mausoleum. Philippe had somehow gotten Erik's sword and held the blade against his neck to keep him still. Erik was grabbing the blade at his neck so that Philippe would not draw blood. Philippe was by no means left handed, but his grip on the sword and the pressure he was placing on Erik's neck was enough to keep him in place. The sword in Philippe's right hand was pointed towards the ground. Erik would have no way to deflect it. I knew that Philippe was planning to stab him in the heart. He seemed to like skewering people. I had seen him do it before.

I had to stop this now. My heart drove me forward. Kicking my horse, I raced towards them. Philippe whispered some words to him; I was certain he was mocking him before he dealt the final blow. Erik looked away and saw me coming. I wondered when they would realize I was coming towards them. My horse was by no means silent, but Philippe would never think I would do anything to deter him. Erik met my eyes and I was confused at what I saw in them. He looked regretful. He looked like he was apologizing, but why would he look like that to me? I had no time to think about it because the look was gone just as quickly as I had seen it.

I rode at them at full speed and when I was almost atop them, I pulled the reins back abruptly. The horse whinnied loudly and reared up. Philippe and Erik both threw themselves aside to avoid the horse's hooves. It landed forcefully and I grit my teeth in pain. Maybe that had not been the most intelligent way to separate them, but I had been desperate.

That distraction was all the Erik had needed. He had grabbed the sword at his neck and wrenched it free from Philippe's grasp when both fell to the floor. Philippe had rolled aside and lost his sword in the process. It was an arm's reach away though. Erik looked about to strike Philippe when I rode my horse between them. Philippe had quickly grabbed his sword and looked ready to restart the battle.

Both of them yelled at me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I did not reply.

I looked first at Erik to appease my heart and then looked at Philippe. He glared at me and I knew he wanted me to move. Instead, I grabbed Philippe and hoisted him up behind me. I headed towards the opera house so that we could check on Christine.

I left Erik there to find a way home himself. I never looked back once. That would be our last encounter. I no longer cared about the ring. Philippe would have to believe me. I had broken off the engagement. I would deal with Philippe as best as I could. I did not know how exactly I would handle him, but I knew that something had to change. I had changed already just this morning.

Erik would chase after Christine, but at least he would still be alive. The thought of him dying had hurt, and even though I knew Philippe would be enraged, I could not let him kill Erik.

Surprisingly, Philippe was silent. He held onto me as we rode to the Opera Populaire. He asked no questions. He made no accusations. He had not even resisted when I had pulled him onto the horse. I wondered what he was planning. It was always worse when Philippe had time to think about what he wanted to do to me. I would accept whatever punishment he had. I would because I still had people for whom to care.

Arriving at the opera house, the carriage had been parked in front and Christine had yet to enter the building. She sat still as stone in the carriage. It appeared that she was deep in thought. I was about to go to her when Philippe dismounted without a word. He approached Christine unhesitatingly and I wondered what was happening. I knew Philippe and Christine knew each other. I had introduced them so many years ago when we had been staying by the beach. Philippe had to know this was the person to whom I had been engaged. I had never seen them interact before, but when Christine finally noticed him, she seemed to snap out of her stupor in what looked like relief.

Suddenly, she was this very alive, very frightened damsel in distress. She shook like a leaf in the morning chill and she gripped the reins tightly. Her hair had fallen as a curtain around her face. Her eyes were large and her lips quivered slightly. She looked unearthly, pale against her red cloak. Rooted in her spot, she was beautiful in her fear.

I saw it and knew that at one point I would have wanted her. I would have been moved by her very image. Yet, now I felt nothing. I wanted to ease her suffering because it looked as though she was in pain, but nothing more.

That must have been the first time that Erik had manhandled her in such a way. She probably always trusted he would be gentle for her, but she had tried to save Philippe. What reaction could she have expected? She had betrayed Erik in a way. She had betrayed him for Philippe.

I kept coming back to wondering what their relationship with each other was. I was shocked when Philippe lifted himself into the carriage and sat beside her. He hugged her, and I was further shocked when Christine hugged back so ardently.

What kind of relationship _did_ they have? That was not the touch of an acquaintance. She had never looked so comfortable with me. She had hardly let me touch her when we were engaged. When we had touched, I had always felt as though she were thousands of miles away from me. She had never held onto me as though there was no one else in the world. There had always been a mirror.

Philippe had disapproved of my relationship with her yet here he was evidently in the same kind of relationship. I doubted he had proposed, but they looked to be intimate. Christine clung to him desperately.

Maybe I was simply imagining things. Maybe Philippe was simply being supportive seeing a woman in such distress. He had a weakness for pretty women. Christine looked like she needed any shoulder on which to cry. She might have clung to me had I been the one to sit beside her. I did not know which the truth was though. I did not know if there was something more between them.

Philippe was being so gentle. He rubbed her back and whispered soft words in her ear. I could not hear because I had been rooted to my place on the horse the moment Philippe dismounted. I was watching in avid fascination. He looked kind. It only hurt me further to know Philippe had the capacity to care for people but would not bestow the slightest bit of kindness on me. He could care but he simply did not with me.

I simply added it to the list of reasons I should not care for Christine. I still worried for her though. I reminded myself how easily I interpreted actions and motives that were not there. I was being unfair to her. I was being unfair to Philippe too in my assumptions.

Philippe stood up and Christine followed in suit. Jumping off the carriage, Philippe lifted Christine down touching her more than I felt was necessary. He gently placed her down but did not remove his hands from her body. Instead, he pulled her closer.

Sparing a glance at me, she seemed reluctant. Philippe leaned forward and whispered something to her, which calmed her down. I watched, unsure of what was occurring.

When Philippe leaned forward again, it was not to whisper. Instead, he kissed her. He actually kissed her. He captured her lips and pulled her even tighter against him. She had wrapped her arms around him and helped him close the distance between them. Opening his mouth, I saw their tongues twisting against each other and I could not comprehend what was happening. They really were… they were together?

I could not believe it. The proof was kissing in front of me right now though. I could not react though. How was I supposed to react to this new development? Too much was happening in too short a time. It was too much for me. Christine was reciprocating eagerly and I wondered where that enthusiasm had been when we had been together. Then I realized that she had really betrayed Erik. That time in the cemetery had not been because she did not want to see anyone hurt. She had not wanted to see her lover hurt. What about Erik though? I stopped that train of thought. I did not care about Erik. Erik would have to deal with Christine on his own. It was no business of mine. Perhaps that was the reason Erik and Philippe hated each other. Erik probably knew that Philippe was trying to steal Christine away. It made sense now. He was always fighting for Christine.

Philippe ended the kiss with a grin and another whisper. Christine headed into the Opera Populaire and I watched her go silently. Philippe pulled himself behind me and I headed home. He was quiet, for which I was glad. I was trying to sort out my thoughts.

Christine and Philippe.

Christine and Philippe.

I would come to that and my mind would falter. I knew why it faltered though. The next thought would be that Christine and Philippe had kissed. Kissed more passionately than I myself had the opportunity to kiss her. I was certain that Philippe had even groped her in front of me. He was displaying it. He wanted me to know.

Christine and Philippe.

It was as though my mind was stuck.

She betrayed me. Again. Before it had been a mutual betrayal, but this time… this time she had betrayed me with Philippe. She was in a relationship with him. It had been a mere week and a half that I had broken the engagement. Philippe had only been here… wait; he had been here a month already. I forgot about that. I forgot because when I had been in the cellar, Philippe had been running the opera house. Did that mean that even before I broke the engagement off, she had been with Philippe? How long? How long had she been doing this to me?

I wondered if she actually loved him. I wondered if she was simply using him to become a Comte's wife. It was indeed a better title. She had never truly cared for me then. If she had the slightest regard, she would not have kissed my brother in front of my face.

I expected Philippe to hurt me. I expected Philippe to find new ways to hurt me, but I did not know he could do it so well.

I had felt that it had been my duty to protect her. It was the proper thing to do, but she needed no protection. She could fare well by herself. She had Philippe now.

It was because of that sense of duty though that I had not just given up in that cemetery. It would have been so easy. I heard that freezing to death was just like going to sleep. That would not have been so bad. Everything else had been taken away from me. Every illusion that I had made for myself had been shattered. It was not as though I knew them to be illusions. I had truly believed that Philippe had loved me as a brother. I had truly believed that Erik saw me as I was and not just some pawn. I had truly believed that Christine had loved me when she had been my fiancée. I had truly believed they all had been good people. I had believed in them so deeply that it felt as though I had been uprooted when I realized otherwise.

However, my mother's love had to be true. She cared for me. She was my _mother_. Was that not enough proof? She had to love me. I had to be the good son and protect her from Philippe. I was certain that she would have protected me from him had she known. She was innocent in all of this and I would try my hardest to keep her so. She was the only one left. I would do my best.

However, the ride home was filled only with the thought that Christine had truly betrayed me. She, along with Philippe and Erik, were no longer people with whom I had any expectations. Of all the people in the world I would protect, I would not care for them as I should. They had been the closest ones to me, and they had been the ones to hurt me the most.

It was not until we reached the house and we were inside did the desire to strike back surface. We had dropped the horse off in the stable. Philippe entered the foyer and headed to the living room.

It was like déjà vu. I felt as though it was one month ago but the positions were reversed. I felt as though it was not I that was moving. It was merely a shadow of the past.

The house seemed empty. I followed Philippe silently. He seemed rather pleased with himself. He turned to face me but he never made it fully around. A burst of energy from somewhere exploded within me and I was moving faster than I thought possible. His head whipped back as my fist connected with his jaw. My hair flew into my face and the cape I was still wearing fluttered behind me. I did not know what possessed me but it felt good to feel the impact. It felt good to injure Philippe. A thrill ran through me. Everything felt as though it were moving in slow motion. My senses seemed heightened.

Philippe stumbled backwards, but instead of crashing against a table like I had, he caught himself. He was not as weak as I was. In the haze I was in, I felt no fear. I wanted to hit him again… and again. I wanted to hurt him so much. Maybe I could tie him in the cellar and starve him. I was no longer in control of my body. Something else was driving me to act like this. Some part of me that I feared was exactly like Philippe.

That thought brought me back a little. Unfortunately, Philippe chose then to grab me and throw me against a wall. He threw me as though I were nothing. The wall shuddered and the picture frames shook perilously. I landed on the floor and rolled onto my back. I could not catch my breath. The impact had hurt, but my wounds hurt more. He was on me in a second and I fully came back into myself. What had I done? I could feel no pride in the bruising I saw to be forming on his jaw or the blood that was dripping from his lip. I had been like Philippe. I had lost myself to that same anger and hatred that seemed to burn within him.

"What was that?" He asked calmly.

I replied, "You… you're entangled with her."

There were so many other reasons to have hit him, but my mind was currently fixated on Christine. It was currently stuck in that loop, in that time six months ago when I had still wanted to defend that engagement.

He smiled sweetly before he began to choke me. I grasped at his hands desperately clawing at them to let me go, but he merely held on tighter. I was beginning to feel dizzy. I kicked and I flailed hitting a table in the process. I started to see black spots floating where I knew Philippe's face should have been. My mouth was open but nothing was coming in. I faintly heard something crash and a distant voice when suddenly I could breathe again. Philippe stood up as I turned onto my side. I gasped painfully and began to cough. My throat felt sore and gasping for air only hurt it further.

My eyes were still unfocused and the moisture in them made everything blurry. I still could not get my limbs to move. Slowly, past my laboured breaths I could hear a conversation.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Was that my mother? I knew I could not let her see me like this. Philippe might start to harm her.

Philippe laughed incredulously, "He actually attacked me."

There was silence and I heard footsteps come closer. I thought my mother was going to come to me. However, the footsteps stopped elsewhere. I pushed myself to sit up but failed. Maybe I could make her believe that it had all been for amusement. I did not want her to find out about the beatings Philippe had given me. I had to be stronger.

Philippe continued in the same amused and shocked tone, "He actually hit me. Maybe letting him stay in the opera house was too lenient."

I struggled into a sitting position and leaned heavily against the wall. My mother was bent over near a table picking up shards of what was once a Decatur glass. Philippe stood nearby straightening his clothing. She did not once look over to me in worry.

Hurt, I looked at her pleadingly. I wanted her to see me. She was picking up the glass before she checked on me? I wanted to protect her from Philippe, but now that it had come out, I wanted her to look at me, to really see me. I wanted her to see what I had gone through. I wanted some support. Instead, she stood up briskly and yelled for a maid.

She turned to Philippe and replied as though I were not in the room, "What did I say about breaking things in my house?"

Philippe shrugged and wiped the blood from his lip.

"I let you use the house once to make him behave and you break my lamp, get blood on the carpet," she continued to scold him, "and ruin the cellar. Now, you plan to ruin my glass set?"

I opened my mouth to call out to her, but I did not know what to say. She knew. She had known that I had been the cellar. I had not seen her once. I had not heard her once. I had not let myself hope, but she had known. Why hadn't she come? Why hadn't she saved me?

Philippe looked at the blood on his hand and felt his jaw. He glanced at me disdainfully, "Too much time has passed since I had been here."

I glanced in his direction but could not stand to look at him. I still could not understand. My mother had known?

She finally looked at me, and it was then that I understood completely. She looked at me with the exact expression as Philippe. Two sets of identical emotions directed at me. Two sets of cold eyes that saw me as nothing but a nuisance. Two sets of eyes that looked through me but never at me. I was not her son. I had never been.

It was suddenly cold. I felt disembodied. Where was the pain that I had experienced the other times my illusions had been shattered? There was nothing for me except shock right now.

She looked to Philippe and frowned, "You had been a lot neater when you had given his lessons as a child. You should return to those tactics."

I had heard enough. She had known all along. She had known everything I had gone through and she had never once tried to stop them. She in fact encouraged Philippe to do them once more. Why wasn't there anyone I could count on? Why? I wanted to shout. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out. There was the desire, but no passion. I wanted to but at the same time there was nothing in me to do so.

I could not be here any longer. I unsteadily stood up and staggered out of the room past them. Neither of them moved to stop me. Neither of them acknowledged me. I grabbed on the railing and dragged myself up the stairs to my room.

Everything I believed in had been upturned in one single morning.

Philippe had only ever thought of me as a pawn.

Erik had only used me.

Christine had betrayed me.

My mother had let me suffer.

One by one the people who had mattered to me had been taken from me. Each hope that I had once held had been agonizingly wrenched from my soul.

I dropped onto my bed listlessly. My wounds hurt, but I really could not tell. There was pain. There was sadness. There was betrayal. It was all the same. Physical, mental, emotional. They were all embodied in me.

I felt… I felt as though I were floating. My mind was surprisingly blank. It was empty. I felt empty. Empty and cold. It reminded me of the darkness in my mind. This darkness was different though. It felt heavy. It weighed me down while making me feel as though I weighed nothing at all. I knew what it was like… it was like the ocean. It was like being under all that water yet feeling weightless. Yes, that was what this was like.

I was forgetting something. I did not want to think about anything though. I had been too disappointed. I had been too torn apart, too devastated. I did not have to think about sad things. Why think of sad things when I could just float away?

I had never felt cold in that comforting darkness. It was cold now. My limbs were not listening to me. It was as though I was back in the snow. It was as though I could not swim in that dark ocean. I could only be held suspended in the inky darkness. It was not so bad. I could just sleep. It could be just like in the snow this morning when I had thought to die. All it required was letting go.

Letting go?

That was not difficult now. There was nothing left for me to hold onto. There was nothing left for me to let go. There was only myself. There was only Raoul, but who was Raoul? Raoul was someone I had imagined into being. Raoul was an illusion of my mind. All my illusions had been shattered this morning.

My feeling had been right. This morning had ruined many things for me. It had ruined everything.

The truth was laid bare before me.

There was nothing beneath the illusions. There was no substance to them.

There was nothing beneath the actions. There were no benevolent motives or hidden charities.

There was nothing beneath the roles. There was no one to acknowledge him.

There was no one to acknowledge me.

There was nothing beneath the mask. There was only emptiness.

There were only chains.

There was no one left.

No one.

Everything could be disposed. I would dispose the unnecessary weight. Maybe I would lose the weight that was holding me under the water, under the surface of life. Maybe I would float to the surface.

I was drowning, and now I knew that there was no one out there to save me. I would simply die.

I closed my eyes on the bed and let my body drift for a moment. I reviewed the hopes I had once had. I thought of happiness and hope. I thought of struggles and successes. I thought of things that I would never know again. I now only knew despair so I wrapped myself in those happy memories for just a little while. I let myself float in that cocoon of good memories.

Then…

I let go.

o.o.o.o

End ch17

Word count: 10,542

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter Review: Word count went down, but a lot happened in this chapter. A lot of bad things happened to Raoul. I feel bad for doing this to him, and yet I still do it.

Man, Raoul's life sucks. Everything has just gone to hell in this chapter for him:o( And we don't find out what happens to him until two chapters later!

I did not so much like the meat of this chapter. Something felt off, but I liked the ending. What do you think?


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: Just so you guys know. I did not kill Raoul in the last chapter… sort of. Well, he's not dead in the way you're thinking. --

Oh, this chapter is part songfic. I did not bother to separate Christine's and Erik's parts but if you cannot figure it out, I'm ashamed of you. Your punishment will be to listen to the POTO soundtrack (must be the OLC-original London cast- one because I hate the newer one) 10 times. Then, I'll forgive you.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 18

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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Last time:

As I did every night, I was watching Raoul sleep on the morn of the seventh day when I saw a hooded figure enter Christine's room. I slipped through the passages in time to see that it was the Comte. Christine had a single candle burning, but I was certain that it was he. They shared whispered words.

The Comte hugged her gently, "Let's go."

Christine looked a little reluctant, "Are you certain we should?"

"I've asked you everyday this week for us to go, and you've kept putting it off."

I wondered when they had had the opportunity to talk. It was true that I was distracted by Raoul most of the time, but I had thought I would notice if someone were speaking to Christine. However, it appeared that I had been rather negligent. The Comte was planning something. He wanted to get my attention, and he knew with my past record that Christine was the way to go about it. He also knew that I wanted Raoul to watch Christine. I would play his game, but I would come out it the victor.

Christine nodded and pulled on her coat, "Let's go."

They blew out the candle and left. I hurriedly ran before them. Reaching the carriage, I incapacitated the driver and hid him. I momentarily worried what Raoul would do. I hoped he would sleep through the morning. I had business with these two and I would rather not have him present to see it.

It was better this way.

The Comte and Christine entered the carriage and ordered me to go to the cemetery.

They were making this almost too easy for me.

I drove away from my home and from the one I loved. I would be a murderer one more time… maybe two more times.

o.o.o

I watched my breath cloud in the cold morning weather. There was snow on the ground and the sky was foreboding. It was still dark and I wondered briefly if the sun would shine today.

I made haste to arrive at the cemetery. I did not particularly feel comfortable with my back turned to either of them. I could very well be attacked and not realize it until it was too late. However, they made no indication of knowing that it was I who drove them, but one could never be too safe.

The carriage bounced and the horses complained. I pushed them forward and was relieved that neither the Comte nor Christine commented on it. They were rather engrossed with one another actually. I could not turn around in fear of being found out, but I could hear that they spoke in hushed tones. I could just picture them sitting close together. The liberties he took with her were ones I had never dreamed I could. I had once touched her in reverence, but there was nothing reverent between those two.

The Comte whispered and I _knew_ them to be huddled rather close, "This is for the best."

I wished to see Christine's expression. I wanted to know her reaction to the statement. Maybe I could decipher of what they were speaking if I did.

She replied, "It seems rather extreme, Philippe."

They were certainly planning something, but if Christine was reluctant to be a part of it, then it meant the Comte was planning something significant. I mean to actually have Christine hesitant. I could not imagine Christine hesitant in anything she did. She could hesitate but it had always been for dramatic effect. It had always been so that others would encourage her. She was not acting now. She was hesitant now.

_What_ could possibly be for the best that Christine could doubt?

The Comte responded but I was unable to hear it as we rode over a bumpy portion of the road.

"Are you certain he will come?" Christine asked.

"Yes," he replied, "I'm certain he will."

They continued to speak to each other, but their voices had dropped to a level where I could not distinguish the words.

Were they speaking of me? I strained my ears to hear anything else, but I still could not hear their conversation. The wind was too loud. The birds were actually chirping. The horses' hooves made too much noise. Everything was conspiring against me. I needed to know of what they spoke.

I wished I could hear them more clearly. It was beginning to annoy me. Still, I would sometimes be able to catch phrases that seemed important, but I could not place them in context. I knew Raoul's name had been spoken several times already. I found it odd that they would speak about Raoul especially considering how Christine hated to talk about things other than herself. However, Raoul _was_ the common thread that held them together. It was not completely odd for them to speak of him.

This whole situation seemed awry. I did not like it.

I had already learned that the Comte had been the one pushing for Christine to go to the cemetery to visit her father's grave. He had to know that I would find out. Christine always thought I was in her room and she would never say anything there she did not want me to hear. She would have told the Comte as much. However, I had not discovered their plan until just this morning. He could not have known I would have seen him enter her room. There were too many things that seemed left unplanned if the Comte was indeed trying to lure me into a trap. However, as we moved further away from the opera house, I felt worse about this situation. Something terrible was going to happen today. I felt it in my bones and my instincts were rarely wrong.

Even with foreboding hanging over me, my mind was preoccupied. I worried about the two behind me, but I worried more about Raoul. I had not left him alone since the masquerade. It _did_ appear that he was fine without me. He had managed well enough in the opera house these past six days, but then again, he had been under my watch. When I had tried to stay away from him, the worry consumed me and eventually drew me back to him.

Seeing him made my heart beat faster. His eyes, his hair… I was obsessed with him. What was I going to do? Raoul did not need me. However, he was not free just yet. Once Raoul went home, he would have to confront his brother. The mere idea of Raoul being in the Comte's grasp was enough to enrage me. He was mine to protect. That thought never strayed far from the forefront of my thoughts. I would remember the wounds that I had helped heal and the ones I never had the chance to attempt to. I could not forget. I knew them as well as I knew my own scars, better even. There had been so many. I had wanted to soothe every injury with my own hands.

Instead, I was left out here in the cold morning using my hands to hurt instead of heal. I wanted to whip the horses harder just to alleviate some of the tension I felt. I forced it down though. There was a time and a place. Both time and place were coming soon. I would get my revenge on the Comte and on Christine.

What better place than a cemetery to commit murder? I need not go very far to find a place to hide the bodies. The anticipation was almost exhilarating. I was not so much thrilled about the act of murdering them though. That would have been the Opera Ghost. Their deaths felt more like a closure to a part of my and Raoul's life that I was helping come to pass. It was a time that should never have occurred to either of us. I was anticipating the moment when the both of us could move forward from this nightmare, when the Comte and Christine became a mere buzz to the music that our life would make together.

That was truly idealistic of me. I thought of us as a unit already when the truth of the matter was that there was no 'we.' I was Erik and he was Raoul. There was no 'we'… yet. Not yet. That was why I would kill his brother and his ex-fiancée. I would remove them from his very thoughts and I would find a way to fill his every thought and every desire with me.

I came back to the fact that I did not even know if he wanted me. It seemed as though he had not _wanted_ to be near me when he had been in my care. He had wanted to leave so badly that it hurt me. I could not even tell for certain if he _needed_ me. He may have known a way to stop his brother himself. He may not need my help at all. I trusted that if he wanted to, Raoul would find a way. He was strong. I knew that.

Even so, I believed that Raoul, as he was now, would still be harmed if _I _did not act. Raoul would find a way if he wanted, but for some reason, he did not seem to want to fight back. If he would not fight back, then I would have to do so for him. He was mine to protect after all. That much had already been decided. I actually liked to remind myself. It resonated within me and gave me the strength to move forward.

Maybe if I eliminated everyone that might harm him, I could approach him once more. There would be no distractions: no emergency letters, no rings, and no dangerous brothers. Once the Comte and Christine were no longer around, Raoul could focus on the opera house. He could focus on me.

I wanted them gone, and this was the perfect opportunity. I could eliminate them before the seventh day was done. Then Raoul would not have to leave. Well, he could very well still leave, but I could fool myself into thinking that he would not. I wanted to tie him to me, but I did not know how to. I wanted him but I could not hold onto him.

The two behind me had fallen silent. Apparently, it had not taken much to alleviate Christine's doubt since she stopped complaining. I could picture them in my mind's eye sitting close together with the Comte's arm around her shoulders.

That was freedom wasn't it? He could touch whoever he wanted. He could go wherever he wanted. Why was life so wholly unfair? I wanted that freedom. I did not even need that much of it. I did not want to touch anybody. I just wanted to Raoul. I did not want to go anywhere. I just wanted to be with Raoul.

This whole situation did not feel right though, and not just the foreboding feeling I had for this morning excursion to the cemetery. The whole situation with Raoul did not seem right. I had actually let him go. It was just like with Christine. Was it not? I had kidnapped her, though I had not been quite ready to do so at the time, but if I had really wanted her, I should have kept her. However, I let her go. After the mask incident, I brought her back to her life. I could excuse that with the fact that I had not wanted her.

With Raoul, I had kidnapped him as well. I _had_ wanted to keep him. I _was_ ready to keep him. I wanted him so badly. The very thought of him in my arms was wonderful torture. My hands ached to touch him again. My body ached for him to touch me. However, I let him go. There had been no incident. He did not unmask me. I did not scream at him. No, I had simply let him go. Why had I done that? Did I simply sabotage my desires?

That made no sense whatsoever. Why would I sabotage my own desires? I lived doing whatever I pleased. Yet, there was still a kernel of doubt in my mind. I found myself second guessing every decision I made about Raoul. I was uncertain in all aspects of how to treat him and of how to act. I did not want to treat him like I had Christine because she had not wanted me in the end. I did not want to be anyone else though because if I had to change for him, then he could not be for whom I was looking. Yet, I knew without a shadow of doubt that he was the one. I found myself torn. It was an alien feeling and I did not know how to respond to it.

I had to focus. I had to keep in mind what I wanted and what I was working towards. Déjà vu. Hadn't I gone through this with Christine? In my struggles to finish Don Juan Triumphant, hadn't I told myself to focus for Christine? Why did everything come back to her?

If I thought about it though, everything kept coming back to Raoul. I had taken Christine because of Raoul. I had told myself to focus on Christine because Raoul had been distracting me. For some reason, I smiled at the memory of me struggling with that focus. I had been fighting against him then. I had fought against the very thought of Raoul. I had been miserable, but now I could not help but feel hope. I was fighting _for _him now.

I _had_ to kill Christine and Philippe. That was certain in my mind. I was not going to play the role of the murderer. That person had been the monster. I found no joy in this act, but I knew I could do it. I knew I could because I had to for Raoul. He may not understand it right away, but I hoped I could make him see that it was better this way. It was people like them who ruined lives. It was people like them who ruined _our_ lives.

I pulled up to the cemetery and wondered how I would separate them. I could not attack both of them at once. I would be at a disadvantage. I knew Christine was rather lithe and therefore might escape before I had a chance to kill her. I did not know how capable a fighter the Comte was, but I trusted in my own abilities to be able to overpower him. How to separate them though?

The Comte exited the carriage and helped Christine down. I watched them over my shoulder.

He spoke loudly and rather arrogantly at me, "We will be here a while. Stay," he ordered, "I will pay you more then."

I nodded mutely but jumped off of the carriage and moved to stand by the entrance. The Comte watched me distrustfully, but turned his attention back to Christine when he saw that I had stayed. I pretended to ignore them, but I strained to listen to what they were saying. I watched them from the corner of my eye hoping an opportunity would present itself.

The Comte adjusted the cloak Christine wore and looked at the roses she held in her hand. I too looked at the roses. I had not noticed them before. I loved roses. Of all the flowers for her to bring, she had to bring red roses. I wondered at this coincidence. Christine's actions were never to be taken at face value. Were they trying to trick me? I was beginning to feel that my paranoia was getting out of hand.

The Comte leaned forward and pecked her lightly on the lips. I frowned at them. I did not want Christine, but the speed with which the Comte and Christine's physical relationship was envious. If I could treat Raoul like that… I let the thought hang.

"I'll let you go on ahead so that you can have time with your father," the Comte suggested. He smiled sympathetically. Yet, I knew the emotion to be false. There was an odd sense of falsehood around him. I could almost believe everything he said or did, but I could not fully reconcile it with the thoughts I already had of him with my experience with Raoul. It was not only my innate dislike for him though. When I looked at him, I could not help but feel his pretension.

I was slightly confused by Christine's reaction though. Instead of looking relieved or grateful or whatever she was supposed to react to his false sympathy, she looked reluctant still. Reluctant… it was not a word I would use to describe Christine often. However, she covered it up with a smile and nodded. She turned and left in the familiar direction without once turning back.

At least this way, I did not have to worry about separating them. The Comte had already done it for me.

The Comte did not wait to watch where Christine went. Apparently, he already knew where the Daae mausoleum was. How he would have known was a mystery to me though. It made me more wary of him. He instead turned left and began to wander deeper into the cemetery. I wondered where he was going. The Chagny family had no graves here of which I knew though I had never really thought of it.

I wondered which one I should follow. Christine should be the easier of the two to kill. Did that mean I should try to kill the Comte first? The bigger obstacle at this time seemed to be the Comte, but as both Comte and Christine parted ways, I found myself following Christine. I at least knew where she was going. I assumed the Comte was simply going to walk around the cemetery. He did not appear to want to stay by the carriage.

Maybe he was expecting someone; this mysterious person that he knew to be following them. Whatever he was doing though, I would worry about it later.

I followed Christine. I knew where her father's grave was and therefore could beat her to it. This was not the first time that I had followed her to this cemetery. This was the first time however that I planned to let her join her father.

As she walked, she began to sing. She sounded beautiful. I had once lived for that voice. I faltered in my steps to get ahead of her and instead kept close to hear her song.

She walked through the cemetery almost wistfully. She barely looked at the graves though. It was as though she were ignoring them. She was ignoring death, but I would bring it to her attention soon enough.

_You were once  
my one companion ...  
you were all  
that mattered ... _

It was as though she were singing for my sake as well. Christine had been my everything. She had been the only one with whom I spoke. I could not count Madame Giry because we rarely spoke. She relayed the notes I needed to be sent, but beyond that, very few words had been shared. We were hardly acquaintances much less companions.

Christine, on the other hand, had kept me sane. In a bigger way though, she had also driven me to insanity. I had focused so much on her not realizing how much I was hurting myself in the process. It had all been a façade. It was all still one. It was a ruse and given that a lie had been the basis for our whole twisted relationship, I did not know how I ever thought it could be anything more.

It hurt to love Raoul as well. It hurt but not in the way that loving Christine had. It hurt me because I could not be there for him all the time. I could not be by his side. I could not see him smile truthfully. I could not hear him laugh or talk. I could not touch him, and it hurt terribly. _He_ was all that mattered.

Christine continued to stroll. I wondered for what she was waiting. She had never taken this long to get to her father's grave. She always found such comfort in being near it, just as she found comfort lighting a candle for him. She was biding her time and I knew I could get ahead of her, but still I waited to hear what words she would sing.

_You were once  
a friend and father -  
then my world  
was shattered ..._

I scoffed at that. She was hardly one to speak of worlds shattering. Had she ever experienced anything devastating? I was sure her father's death was hard, but it hardly could have been avoided. Death was hard on everyone. Worlds do not shatter because of it. We let ourselves wallow in self pity when those who have died have already moved on. No, I could feel no pity for her.

Had her world ever really shattered? Had she lost footing on her very place on this world? Had she ever felt as though the very thoughts she had and emotions she felt were all lies? Lies that you told yourself. I did not think so. She was calculating and very well knew what lies she lived. She was shrewd enough to make certain she _had _a life to live.

Maybe though, she could have grown up differently. Maybe she would have been a different person had her father not died. She could have been kinder, gentler. She could have been someone who did not love her roles so much. I could believe that.

After all, I believed that _I_ would have been a different person had I not been born with this deformity. I could have been so much more. I too could have had a kinder disposition. I never would have been a monster or a murderer.

I even believed that Raoul would have grown up differently had Philippe not been there. I did not know whether that was a good thing or not though. Of all the people, of all the roles I knew, Raoul was the only one I would not change. I may want to erase his past so that he would never have experienced pain. I may want to soothe every ache so that he would not understand suffering or betrayal. But, they were what made him who he was now. And, he was perfect. Through everything, he had come out perfectly. I could not express it in any other way. I wanted to be in that innocence he seemed to radiate. I wanted to be near him always. I wanted him to never change.

_Wishing you were  
somehow here again ...  
wishing you were  
somehow near ...  
Sometimes it seemed  
if I just dreamed,  
somehow you would  
be here ..._

I could not help but regret my decision to let him go once more. It was just an example of how I second guessed every decision with him. I regretted the decision the moment I made it. I regretted it every morning following every day that he was so close yet so untouchable. I once again barely slept so that I could watch him. Even when I slept, I dreamt of him. He was so close. So close, but so far.

I wanted him to be happy. It was why I had been willing to let him leave. Now, I did not know why I even thought letting him go was a good idea. I wanted him and I only wanted him to be happy with me. I could not bring myself to not want him. I did not want to stop.

Some time during her song, I had stopped moving. I hurriedly caught up.

The words she spoke came from that person she could have been. It came from a part of her that was buried under all the deceit.

She sang with the voice I had given her. I knew every tone, pitch, and range of it. I knew every melody she sang because I had been the one to give it to her. It was a voice I knew as well as my own. It was almost perfect. She would never sing perfectly though because I believed passion was as important as any other aspect of singing. That was my failure as her tutor, but one could not be taught passion.

This song had the capability to move me by itself, but it did not. It fell short of its true potential. Had it not been for my own thoughts, my own emotions… had it not been for Raoul, I would not be affected at all. My desire for Raoul and the longing that was comparable to her song made me pause. They were words I could sing at this moment and mean completely.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel the heat of his body again. I wanted to see him again. I wished to never look away.

_Wishing I could  
hear your voice again ...  
knowing that I  
never would ...  
Dreaming of you  
won't help me to do  
all that you dreamed  
I could ..._

I wanted to hear him breathing, talking, singing. Oh, God. He sang. Oh, how he sang. I did not know how I had almost forgotten that he did. It had been his voice which had haunted my thoughts for six months. It had been his song that had driven me to distraction. It had been his passion with which I had found myself entranced, which had driven me to see the truth about Christine.

He had offered her everything and she had agreed, but it had been glaringly obvious she had not loved him. Her lie had been so apparent against his guilelessness that I had been forced to acknowledge it. It had been the dream, the one by which I had been tormented, the one that had Raoul in it. It had been that dream which had given me sleepless nights. She had looked past me and I had finally _seen_ who she was.

How odd. Why hadn't I realized earlier how much Raoul had been in my thoughts? The moment he became patron of the opera house, I had watched him. I watched everyone though. That was why I had not noticed. Yet, somehow, he was the only one that really left an impression on me. He was the only one who had fooled me completely.

I turned my attention back to Christine and realized we were close to her father's grave and I was still not ahead of her. I raced ahead and cleared my thoughts. I did not want to be thinking fondly of Raoul when I killed her. I did not want to sully my memories of him as all other of my memories had been sullied.

_Passing bells  
and sculpted angels,  
cold and monumental,  
seem, for you,  
the wrong companions -  
you were warm and gentle ..._

Only the cold eyes of these sculpted angels would be witness to my actions. The perfect detachment needed for a murder. I climbed to the top of the mausoleum and waited. I wanted to lure her into the mausoleum. Once she was inside, she would have nowhere to run. I could very well kill her and never have to move her.

_Too many years  
fighting back tears ...  
Why can't the past  
just die ...?_

So many years wasted on Christine. Years that had driven me to the brink of insanity.

It saddened me how my obsession with Christine had all gone to naught. It saddened me that I had not seen it sooner. I had not realized that she had been nothing but dreams and empty promises.

I owed her something though. I did not know how I would have turned out had she not been my obsession. She very much shaped who _I_ was. It was part of the reason why I hated her. She had made me a monster.

She had also almost made me miss Raoul. She had almost lost me the only true happiness I could have.

I was no longer that monster and I no longer ignored Raoul. I wanted to forget the past.

The past would die today.

_Wishing you were  
somehow here again ...  
knowing we must  
say goodbye ...  
Try to forgive ...  
teach me to live ...  
give me the strength  
to try ..._

This was my chance at happiness. This was my chance to be someone I wanted to be, to be _with_ someone. I would do anything for Raoul. I would do anything to keep Raoul and this was the only way. The thought of him gave me strength. It calmed me.

I prepared myself. This would be a goodbye.

_No more memories,  
no more silent tears ...  
No more gazing across   
the wasted years ...  
Help me say  
goodbye._

Before calling out to her, I silently whispered, "Goodbye, Christine."

_Wandering child ...  
so lost ...  
so helpless ...  
yearning for my   
guidance ... _

I knew I should have felt reluctant. I should have felt sad to do this to her, but I did not. All I wanted was her death. I wanted to eradicate the very memory of her.

She looked genuinely surprised for a moment before gathering herself. Fixing a look of fear and uncertainty, she responded.

_Angel ... or father ...  
friend ... or  
Phantom ... ?  
Who is it there,  
staring ... ?_

How could I feel reluctant when she played innocent? There was no doubt in my mind that she was lying. I did not try to disguise my voice. She knew my voice well. I had made certain she would never forget it. It had been obvious with her initial reaction. She must have truly been surprised to let her facial expression change. I almost called out irately, but smoothed out my voice. I was trying to lure her to me, not scare her away.

She did not know about my change of heart. She did not know why I was here. She only knew what she assumed. I hoped she assumed I would never harm her.

_Have you  
forgotten your Angel ...?  
Angel ... oh, speak ...  
What endless  
longings  
echo in this  
whisper ...!_

I was tired of this game. I was so very tired of it. These roles tore at me. I had decided to kill Christine and the Comte as Erik. It hadn't been a difficult decision because it was who I was. Yet, here I was being the Opera Ghost. I was pretending to be that 'Angel of Music' who so doted on Christine, who turned a blind eye to who she really was.

It was okay for now though. Wasn't it? It was okay to play these roles one more time.

_Too long you've wandered  
in winter ...Once again  
she is his ...   
Far from my  
far-reaching gaze ...  
Once again  
she returns ..._

Our voices melding together felt so familiar. It was comfortable since I knew her voice, but I was glad when I realized that comfort meant nothing. I felt nothing for her. She sang beautifully. She looked beautiful as well, but I felt nothing for her.

I struggled though to pull myself away from the role I was playing. I had to do this as Erik or else I may never be freed from these roles. It was easier this way though. It was easier to lure her to me if I was who she expected.

_Wildly my mind  
beats against you ...  
You resist ...  
Yet your/the soul  
obeys ...  
... to the arms  
of her angel ...  
angel or demon ... _

I was no angel. And now I could resolutely assert that I was no demon either. I was merely a man. I smiled at the thought. I was a man who now had a reason to fight, a reason to live.

_still he calls her ...  
luring her back, from the grave ...  
angel or dark seducer ...?  
Who are you, strange  
angel ...?  
Angel of Music!  
You denied me,  
turning from true beauty ...  
Angel of Music! _

This was taking too long. She was refusing too much. She had never done so before. In fact, the daze she seemed to be in was false as well.

My voice had a quality that was enchanting. I had been gifted with that ability. I had cultivated it. It made people forget their desires and listen only to mine, but I knew its affect on Christine was waning. She was acting right now. She was stalling.

The foreboding feeling came back stronger. This felt to be a trap. I suddenly wondered where Philippe was. Was she waiting for him to come? Had they known all along that it had been me driving their carriage?

I had to assume they did not know. I had to try harder to get her to come closer.

_Do not shun me ...  
Come to your strange  
Angel ...  
Angel of Music!  
I denied you,  
turning from true beauty ...  
Angel of Music!  
My protector ...  
Come to me, strange  
Angel ...   
I am your Angel of Music ...  
Come to me: Angel of Music ...   
Angel of darkness!_

I would lose my opportunity to do this if it took any longer, but I needed her to be closer so that she did not have the opportunity to run away or scream. I needed to lure her to me. Just a bit closer and I could reunite her with the father that had probably ruined her life by dying.

_Cease this torment!  
I am your Angel of Music ...  
Come to me: Angel of Music ... _

"Christine!" an all too familiar voice yelled.

Raoul.

My head snapped in his direction. I stopped singing and my eyes found him easily. He looked to be a little dazed. He snapped out of it though. Had he been listening to my song? Had my voice overpowered his senses? I was losing what hold I had on Christine, but apparently, Raoul could be held under my sway. The prospects of the idea were enticing. I did not want to lure him to me though. I wanted his affection to be genuine.

It was more important right now though to know what he was doing here. I told him to stay in the opera house. I was angry with him, but I was angrier about the fact that I would not be able to kill Christine. Now that Raoul was here, I would not be able to kill either Christine or the Comte. I did not want him to be present when I did such a thing. It would be harder for him to be able to accept me if he saw me do so.

I wondered why I had not noticed his approach. I could not have been so engrossed with Christine to have not noticed him. I had even been worried about Philippe. Surely, I would not have dropped my guard so much.

I climbed down from the Daae mausoleum. I needed to have a little talk with Raoul.

I hid behind a statue close by Christine and stopped. I quickly reexamined our deal. I would return the ring to him only if he remained within my opera house for seven days. If he so much as stepped one foot out of the building, he should expect nothing from me. His desires would mean nothing to me and I would do as I pleased.

Now that he had broken our deal, I could confront him. In fact, the way the deal was set up, I could do whatever I wanted to him. Even with this prospect, I was too angry to think properly. Raoul had disobeyed me. I was not so angry with the disobedience, but he had endangered himself. I told him to stay there for his own sake. If he had actually wanted the ring, he would not have left.

I could admit that part of what I felt was fear. I had been calm because I had thought to have known where he had been. I had been soothed by the thought that he had been at my opera house still asleep. Now, I found that he's here chasing after Christine, no less.

He looked around uncertainly, looking for me. He was worried now? He should have thought of that sooner. Maybe before leaving the opera house.

He wasn't even wearing proper clothing. A flimsy shirt hardly protected him from the cold. He should have been more cautious about his health. He was shivering already.

I slipped closer to hide behind a nearer statue.

I looked at Christine and was worried to see that she did not appear to be surprised. That look of reluctance crossed her face again. She quickly schooled her expression into one of annoyance. I doubted she needed to try very hard to do so. Her expression looked off though. She was holding back. Something was making her uneasy.

Raoul could not be the mysterious person that they knew would follow them. I looked between Christine and Raoul. My gaze settled on Raoul as I watched him rush to her. I watched as Christine lost the residual reluctance left and something akin to determination replaced it.

She _had been_ waiting for Raoul.

Why hadn't she asked how he had known where she was? Why hadn't she asked why he had followed her?

She hadn't because she had been expecting him.

I cursed Raoul's stupidity for following them. They were planning something terrible and he simply walked into their plan. I did not bother to remind myself that if they had been setting the trap for me, then I could be considered guilty of the same thing.

I refrained myself from coming forward just yet though. I waited to see what she would do. I did not see the Comte anywhere, and I really wanted to know why Raoul had come.

The obvious answer was that he had come for _her_. I could not help but feel jealous. It was true that he had broken the engagement himself and had told me I could have her, but when he did things like this, I could not help but think maybe he had reconsidered. It probably did not help him that I was already angry with him.

"Are you okay?" he asked concernedly. I glared at Christine to see her response. I was a possessive person. Raoul belonged to me. I knew that I never wanted to see her with him again.

So, I was relieved when she glared at him. There was nothing between them. I had already known it, but the very thought of them still worried me. The very thought of them together made me angry. It was not just jealousy. It was pure anger. Especially when Raoul seemed honestly worried for her. Did he still consider her a friend? Did he not know of Christine's alliance with his brother? Then I realized, he could not know. The Comte had not spoken to Christine this whole week. Well, apparently he _had_, but not where Raoul or I could see them. Christine was also playing a part in a plan right now.

I felt the betrayal twice over for him. I would kill them before he found out. I was certain he would not handle the discovery of their alliance well. I believed that he still cared for both of them. That much was apparent. I would have to distract him and then kill the two. It would be difficult but I needed to do it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Christine bit out.

I did not like her tone with him. The dislike I felt for her deepened. She should not treat him so poorly. She had already done enough. By the expression on Raoul's face, he understood what she thought of him.

He looked at her helplessly and offered rather hesitantly, "That wasn't your father."

He did not put any emphasis on the statement. He did not believe it. I was surprised that he could finally see her deceit. He shifted on his feet uneasily from left to right. I could not tell whether he was nervous or if it was because he was cold.

Christine looked exasperated, "You have no claim on me. Leave me be."

I expected her to walk away because when she was truly angry, she would walk away from people. The masquerade was the clearest example of that. However, to my surprise, she stayed. I looked closer at her and she did not actually seem angry. She was waiting for something.

Why would she tell him to go away though? She had obviously been waiting for him. The plan had something to do with Raoul so he needed to be here.

Or was the Comte lying in wait by the entrance of the cemetery?

I doubted it. Christine was stalling again. She was waiting for the Comte to come _here_. She knew Raoul would not leave her alone. Even I knew as much. He had come here out of some sort of loyalty or duty he felt for her. I wished he didn't have that part of him. He would not leave though until he knew that Christine was safe.

"I-," he looked to be at a loss of what to say, "I'm sorry."

I could not believe it. He had apologized to her. I no longer cared what else they would say. Raoul should never apologize to people like Christine.

Christine's expression shifted again. It was easier to read her now that I allowed myself to see her for what she truly was. First there was the fake anger, the exaggerated surprise and her overall response to me. She had been more surprised by my presence than by Raoul's. And now, she seemed smug. That apology was for what she was waiting. Something bad was going to happen.

I quickly grabbed Raoul and winced when Christine screamed. The Comte would be here soon. I needed to take Raoul away from here. I needed to make sure he would leave before their plan was set into motion. I covered his mouth so no one would be able to follow us if he so decided to scream. Wrapping my cloak around, I tried to shelter him from the cold as much as possible. I was mindful of the wounds I knew to be under that shirt of his, but pressed our bodies close together. His shirt was extremely thin and his face and arms were freezing.

I was thoroughly annoyed with him. Didn't he even care about his health? He was still recuperating. He could very well get a fever and then get worse. His wounds would not heal well and then what?

However, I could not deny that it felt good to touch Raoul. I could not deny that I was glad he was cold because then he would not complain about our proximity. He would not realize that I was unnecessarily holding him or was unnecessarily close. Seven days of no touching and now I did not want to ever let him go. When I felt that it was safe to stop, I began to push him against a headstone before realizing his back might still be pain. I kept my arm behind him and tried to cushion his fall. However, I lost my balance so that we both fell against the headstone.

His body was pressed tightly against my own and he had grabbed onto me. He was touching me again. The action made me want to smile, but I was still angry with him. I made certain that my cloak was still wrapped around him and that the cold would not seep through his clothing. I breathed in deeply just as though I could breathe him in. I felt better like this. I felt completely at ease with him in my arms. I considered just staying like this.

He did not struggle against me and I wondered what he was thinking. He had actually not struggled this whole way. Maybe he thought it was useless, but I hoped otherwise. Maybe he wanted to be near me. Then I came to my senses and realized I was still mad with him.

I leaned a little back so that I could look at his face and frowned. How could I stay angry with him when he smiled at me like he did? I had kidnapped him, and still he smiled at me. I struggled to keep my expression stern. I could not let him believe I was not angry with him. I was furious with him actually. There was a part of me that had wanted him to succeed in our deal. There was a part of me that had wanted to be rid of the Comte and Christine finally. Then, there was that part of me, the larger part of me that just wanted Raoul to keep looking at me so openly. That larger part had wanted him to fail so that I would be able to do whatever I wanted to him. That larger part wanted to do many things to him.

Instead, I scolded him, "What are you doing here?"

He stopped smiling, and I wished I had not said anything for just a little while longer.

"Well," he explained, "I followed Christine."

I was about to yell at him that that was hardly a good reason when I remembered that I had told him to follow Christine. I had only told him to do so to know where he was though. I had only meant inside the opera house. So, Christine was to blame for this. I should have expected that order to have turned out badly.

I settled for growling at him, "You were to stay within the opera house."

He looked away ashamed and I wanted him to look at me again. I did not want him to turn away. I wanted to see every emotion that ran through his eyes. I did not want to miss a single one. I felt more than saw him shrug. He looked at me again and I could not believe how sad he looked.

He had apparently wanted the ring badly. He had wanted to leave my opera house. He had wanted to leave me. I held him tighter.

He continued, "I'm sorry."

He apologized so easily. He had nothing to be sorry about. He made a choice. He had to deal with the consequences. He probably regretted it though. I did not. I did not regret his decision. I said that I would no longer care for his desires and that would not change. No matter how sorry he was, I would make him mine.

He still refused to meet my eyes though, "Something felt wrong about her disappearance."

I stared at him. He felt that something had been off too? Nothing was right with this morning and even Raoul realized it. I held him and felt his body warming up. Something bad was going to happen and I feared that I would not be able to stop it. I wanted to hold him until this day was done. I wanted to stay like this for the rest of my life. I did not want to be in this cemetery, but I wanted to have Raoul in my arms.

If I wanted it, I would have to fight for it. I looked at him once more, memorizing every feature I could and lightly brushed the strands of his hair so he would not realize. I could tell him to leave and then kill the Comte and Christine, but I knew he would not go. He would want to make sure that I did not hurt Christine. He probably did not even realize his brother was here. Maybe I could just take care of his brother then.

I pulled him forward keeping him as close to me as possible. I quickly returned to the Daae mausoleum hoping that Christine was still there and that the Comte had not yet arrived. I practically carried Raoul obsessed with the feel of his body against my own. I could revel in it later though. We reached the mausoleum and Christine was thankfully still there. She was huddled near the entrance of her father's mausoleum.

I released him so that I could look him in the face.

"Take her back in the carriage," I ordered him. He had to go right now. I knew that the Comte had to be close by. I was relieved when I saw him nod. I looked at him and gave him fair warning. I was warning him because now I would not hold back in my efforts to have him love me back. I could not just tell him that I was in love with him though, so I said instead, "The deal has ended. You have failed."

He looked so hurt that I almost took it back, but the sudden appearance of Raoul's brother behind him stopped me. I had to think quickly. With his sword, the Comte lunged at me. The part that infuriated me was that he was planning to get to me by going through Raoul. I knew I did not have time to draw my own sword and with Raoul in the way, I still would not be able to stop the sword until it had gone through him. So it was pure reflex that had me pull off my cloak and swing it behind Raoul to swipe the sword aside. Luckily the momentum had been enough to push the sword aside. The Comte unsteadily fell to the side.

I pushed Raoul away more roughly than I had intended to but the Comte had easily regained his bearing and was lunging at me once more. I only glanced as I saw Raoul fall head over feet away from us. I noticed Christine running away as well. At least she had not run in the same direction as Raoul though. I drew my own sword and was able to parry the next lunge.

I let my worry for Raoul fade. With the Comte as my opponent, I need not worry about anything bad happening to Raoul. Christine would not physically harm him. I made sure our battle was moving away from where Raoul had fallen. He did not need to see me kill his brother, which I wholly intended to do.

I would finally be able to kill Raoul's abuser. It felt good to swing viciously at the Comte. Every time our swords clashed, it reverberated through the sword and into my arm. The feeling fueled me forward. It fueled the desire to kill him. I could tell that he was not holding back either. He honestly intended to kill me.

He looked serious. The most serious I'd seen him look so far. He was actually focused right now. He lunged at me again but was too slow.

"Well," the Comte commented lightly, as though he had not just tried to stab me, "this is our first meeting."

He said it as though he had not tried to stab me by stabbing right through Raoul. I glared at him. Did he truly not care for his brother at all? The answer was obvious though. The scars Raoul had spoke volumes.

I parried and moved him further away from where I had pushed Raoul. I hoped Raoul would not follow us. I considered that possibility rather slim though. I would have to keep the Comte very busy then and hope that Raoul would realize he had an opportunity to get away. I replied shortly, "Indeed it is."

The Comte was going for a kill. His swings were powerful and aimed only for the vital organs. This man was a murderer. I could tell easily.

"I had not expected to see you so soon. I am the Comte de Chagny," he smiled sardonically. "You may call me Philippe."

I dodged a swing meant to decapitate my head. It struck a headstone with enough force for granite to spray. He was an adept fighter and confident in his skills. It seemed we would be at a deadlock. I lunged forward aiming for his heart. I would show no mercy either. He parried and almost dislodged the sword from my grasp.

He continued to speak, "I assume you are the opera ghost." He was a little breathless. I was glad to see that this involved some exertion for him. I had not needed to fight like this in a while. I had not practiced my sword skills very much. I had not needed to, but I had quick reflexes and knew I was stronger than anyone. I would not let him win. I would kill him and claim Raoul as my own. This was the man that had hurt him so badly. I would exact my revenge.

I offered no reply, only attacked with more force. I was gaining ground, but he left no openings. He managed to put enough distance between us so that I could not reach him. "You took Raoul." He said, the mirth in his voice disappearing completely. "Do not take things that are not yours." He was glaring at me.

I wondered what Raoul really meant to him. It was certain that Philippe did not love Raoul. I had the impression that I had just taken a toy from a spoilt brat, a very dangerously armed spoilt brat. It would seem that the Comte did not like others to touch his things. It may be the only attribute that we shared. No one but I would touch Raoul again. Not if I could help it, and I could.

"Do you really think you could use Raoul against me?" The Comte kept at least three headstones between us. I chased and he would maintain the distance. I was not really trying to reach him though. I wanted to hear what he wanted to say. At least he did not suspect that Raoul meant anything more to me. That would be dangerous information in his possession. I wanted to retort that I was not using Raoul at all, but I held my tongue.

"Raoul is _my_ pawn," he emphasized his possessiveness. I had been correct about him. It was not about Raoul, but rather it was something that was more animalistic. I had wandered into his territory by kidnapping Raoul. "I trained him. I gave him his life. I will be the only one to take it away."

The words enraged me. He was playing with Raoul's life so easily. He spoke of giving and taking as though he were a god. He was merely a man. Actually, he was only an animal. I would kill him. There was no doubt now. He needed to die. He kept solidifying the thought in my mind. It suddenly did not bother me if Raoul were here. He would simply watch me kill his tormentor. Nothing more.

The Comte had it wrong. _I_ had not wandered into _his_ territory. He had wandered into mine.

I easily closed the distance between us and we clashed swords. I grabbed the hilt of his sword at the exact moment he grabbed mine. Our faces were directly in front of each other. I could clearly see his face, his eyes. His eyes were cold and hidden. They were nothing like Raoul's. Raoul would never look at me as though he wanted to kill me. He would never grow up to be like this man. I would die before I let that happen.

The Comte growled out, "You think you can win?"

This would be the moment I laid my claim on Raoul. It was stupid of me to think that I could be anyone other than myself. I may not be a monster, but I should have known that I could not let something I desired be free. I may have driven Christine away by holding on too tightly, but I could not let Raoul go. I could not accept that if I let Raoul go, he would come to me willingly. I would hold onto him. If he rebelled as Christine did, I would only have to hold on tighter. Raoul was mine. I was not going to let him go without a fight. I would not let him go without doing everything in my power to keep him.

Who had I thought I was? I was not going to be happy if Raoul had been happy without me. No, it was not possible. It was not who I was. I would never be that monster again, and I would never deny what I desired under the guise of some false logic. I _had been_ trying to sabotage myself. Those times were gone. Those roles were gone. There was no more phantom. There was no more murderer. There was no more Angel of Music.

There was only Erik. Erik was a passionate artist who was able to feel not only hatred but love. Erik was loyal and in love, and when it came down to it, Erik would do anything to protect the one he loved. I would be gentle and kind. I would be caring and attentive. I would move heaven and earth, and even be a murderer if need be. Raoul was mine. I would let nothing harm him.

I ground out in his face, "Raoul is no longer your pawn." I kicked him in the stomach in emphasis. I felt a wave of satisfaction as I watched him fly backwards, "He's mine."

I was breathing heavily and took a moment to gather myself. Philippe had fallen rather far from me and hit his head along the way. Too bad there was no blood. He was slowly standing up. He was so disoriented that I could kill him right now and he would not know what happened to him. I would kill him in revenge for all the things that he did to Raoul. I would kill him in revenge for all the things that had been done to me.

I moved towards him when I was suddenly tugged backward. I turned to look and saw that it was Christine who pulled my arm. I had not noticed her approach. Once again I had been caught unawares. I had been so focused on the Comte.

She looked almost desperate as she held my arm. Pleadingly looking at me, she held me back with all her strength. I noticed that she looked confident though. She was confident that I would not hurt her. I laughed inwardly. How wrong she was. I grabbed her arm and she yelped in pain. Panic flashed through her eyes. She looked confused for a moment before the panic truly set in. She knew now that I was not her angel of music. She struggled against my grasp but only managed to hurt herself more. Tears began to form in her eyes.

I almost lifted her off her feet as I pried her off my arm. "What do you think you're doing?" I looked at her fiercely.

She shied away and only looked stricken that I was manhandling her. She finally understood that I no longer wanted her. I had finally let her see that fact. I did not want her. I did not need her. I would however hurt her.

She was trying to save the Comte. Even if I had wanted her, the very act of her interference would have only driven me forward to kill him. She never had enough power to stop me from murdering who I pleased. Now, she had absolutely no power over me.

Christine opened her mouth to reply but nothing came forth. She was too afraid, too shocked, too much in pain. She did not know pain. I threw her aside and she screamed. I had thought that I lost the chance to kill either of them, but now, both were at my disposal.

I started towards the Comte. He still could not breathe properly and he looked disoriented. I glanced back at Christine to make sure she was not going to move. I did not think she could gather her bearing fast enough. I knew that I had not actually harmed her. Not yet. She looked too stunned to move though. She had depended on my complacency and I had let her down. Disappointing her made me feel better.

It was then that I caught sight of Raoul. He stood nearby staring at the scene before him. He looked like a vision. Wearing my cloak, his hair was a mess, he looked ragged, and his hands were an alarming colour of red. However, he looked completely composed. His expression was on that I had never seen on him before. Helooked different. He held himself differently, almost confidently. It was a confidence I had only glimpsed once before on the mezzanine seats. This was the Raoul that had captured my attention. This was the Raoul that I had wanted to meet again.

I felt drawn to him, but I could not go to him just yet. Not when the Comte could witness it. The idea of just taking him and leaving Paris without once looking back flashed through my mind. Something was holding me back though. I could not just take him away. No matter how much I wanted to.

Instead, I walked over to Christine and pulled her up roughly. I pushed her towards Raoul. "Take her and go," I ordered.

Currently, I would deal with the Comte. Now that Christine knew I no longer wanted her, she would be on her best behaviour. I expected she would not do anything too drastic. However, the Comte was still very much a threat.

Raoul caught her before she could fall. I was pleased to see her hide behind him in fear. However, seeing her huddled close to him only angered me further.

He looked uncertain what to do for a moment. He hesitated before turning around and running towards the entrance of the cemetery. He dragged Christine along. I watched them go and wished I had chosen differently. I wished that I had grabbed Raoul instead and made our escape.

I watched him fade into the mist. So distracted, I did not see the Comte stand up. The only indication I had of his attack was the crunch of his boots as he lunged at me with all his might. I barely managed to dodge, but the sword sliced the right side of my abdomen. Luckily, he had not managed to skewer me as he had planned. I rolled away in pain before standing en guard.

The Comte smiled evilly. "That brother of mine is so obedient. Do you trust him that much with Christine?"

I did not answer. It would only harm me to answer. I mentally assessed the wound. I would not be able to move my arm very much without stretching the wound. That would very much impede my ability to fight. However, I could ignore the pain for now. It would leave a very large scar, but at least I had not died. I could not believe how distracted I was. Had it not been for my reflexes, the Comte very well would have skewered me right through.

I stood up and brushed the snow off my clothing as though the wound meant nothing. I knew if I showed weakness to this man, he would only use it against me.

"I have big plans for him," the Comte continued conversationally.

I stayed a reasonable distance from him. I wanted to hear what he had to say. "Is that so?" I prompted.

"Yes," he sauntered over to me before attacking. Our positions were reversed this time. It was I who was keeping that safe distance.

The Comte allowed it for now. He wanted to boast, and I would let him. "He won't be the Raoul that you know after today."

I did not like the confidence with which he said it. How could he possibly affect Raoul? Another beating maybe.

"It appears that I have let him run free too much."

I had to respond now, "Free?"

"Oh, yes," the Comte replied sagely. He closed the distance between us quickly. He attacked but pulled back again. He was only provoking me.

"Yes," he continued, "I know what's best for him. You may think you know how to control him, but you don't. Only I know how his mind really works. I know every thought that runs through that little mind of his."

I glared at him, but I had a feeling that he was right. I could read Raoul's emotions, but I had no idea how his mind worked. The Comte had really been the one to shape Raoul's development. I did not doubt that he knew what Raoul thought. Whatever he had planned _would_ change Raoul. I knew that the change would not be for the best.

I realized that the foreboding feeling I had felt was not for me. It had been for Raoul. Something bad was going to happen to Raoul, and I had to stop it.

He began a flurry of attacks and I eagerly joined it. He had enough of taunting me. I had had enough of hearing him ridicule Raoul. He was going for the kill now, and I would too.

He varied his attacks from head, shoulder, leg, but he focused on forcing me to extend my grasp. I parried rather sloppy but was able to force him back a few times. I needed to put him in the defensive. I could not allow him to control the flow of this battle.

However, it hurt to attack, and worse, it was becoming increasingly obvious to both of us that it hurt me more to defend. He fiercely attacked with renewed vigor. I could hardly keep up. I could hardly block him well enough. The pain that flooded my senses almost made me drop my guard a number of times.

He was pushing me back. He was wearing me down and we both knew it was only a matter of time before I was too weak to stop him. My hand was becoming numb and my body felt so cold. I had lost too much blood and had exerted too much energy.

Suddenly, I backed into a wall. I had not been paying enough attention to where I was retreating. He punched me with his free hand in the abdomen where the cut had been and wrenched the sword from my already numb hand. My own sword was suddenly pressed against my throat. I was trapped. I grabbed the hand that was holding the sword at my throat. I would not die by my own sword. However, I knew that he was not going to slit my throat. His right hand was still free. He would kill me with that sword.

I could not block that one. I had no means to. This would be the end. This was it. _I_ had failed. I had wanted to do so much before I died. I had so much to live for now. If I had been in this position a few months ago, I would have been able to die without having a single regret. I did not have anything to live for then. I sometimes found myself not wanting to live. However, now I had a reason to live. I had a reason to fight. I _wanted_ so very much to live, but it was all over now. I would die knowing that I had not been able to protect Raoul.

The Comte's face was close to mine. The similarities in the features made me regret my failure with Raoul even more. He was reveling in his victory though. He stared at my mask intently. I knew that once he killed me he would unmask me. He would have been a person to jeer at me at the carnival. When he looked at me, it felt as though all I was was the mask.

He whispered almost happily, "You'll never touch Raoul again."

I wanted to laugh. He had no idea what he was saying to me. He did not fully understand just how much he was actually taking away from me. He did not know how much I wanted to touch him. However, the possessiveness of this man was so familiar to me that I knew that I was going to be killed by a role I once played. This Comte and the Opera Ghost were the same. It appeared fate wanted me to die by my own hand.

The sound of horse hooves brought me out of my thoughts. I looked behind the Comte and saw Raoul racing towards us. We met eyes and I apologized as best as I could to him with just that look. I wanted to say so much to him. I hoped he could see the love I had for him in my eyes, but I had to look away. I did not want to watch his expression as I died.

However, he was not slowing down like I thought he would. I realized what he was planning to do and grabbed the sword at my neck tighter. He rode full speed until he was almost atop us before pulling the reins back with all his might. The horse whinnied loudly and reared up. Surprised, the Comte looked back and we both threw ourselves aside to avoid the horse's hooves.

I grabbed my sword out of his hand and knocked his sword away from him. We both rolled away from each other. I saw my chance. He was weaponless. I was about to strike when Raoul rode his horse between us. I saw that the Comte had grabbed his sword. I had lost my opportunity, but I would not let myself lose once more. I hurt terribly, but this battle was not done.

I yelled at him and was chagrin to notice the Comte yelling at the same time, "What do you think you're doing?"

He did not reply. Instead, he looked at me for just a moment. I almost dropped my sword. What had that look been? That confidence I had seen earlier was still there, but now that he was closer there was something more in that gaze. There was something that I had never thought to see in his eyes. They were indifferent. He had never looked at me like that before.

He looked away and grabbed Philippe pulling him onto the horse. I watched him leave without once turning back to look at me.

I could not understand what had happened. Raoul had saved my life, but then looked at me as though he never wanted to see me again. I knew I should have been angry. He had just ruined whatever opportunity I had to kill the Comte, and moreover, he even left with the man that he knew hurt him.

I was confused though. Why did Raoul save me? The Comte obviously had the upper hand, so Raoul could not have mistakenly thought he was helping his brother. I could have hoped that his saving me had been a sign that he cared for me, but that look when he left dashed all those thoughts.

I had watched as Raoul left without once turning back. I remembered briefly that time a month ago when he had rushed out of the opera house. He had spared a glance behind him then. He had been worried for his mother, but he still had looked back. He had looked for me even though he knew that I would not be visible. I was visible now and he refused to turn around.

Maybe he wanted to hide the fact that he cared about me from his brother. Maybe he did still care. I could not convince myself though. The feeling that something was different about him intensified. Not just different though, there was something troubling about this change.

I tiredly leaned against the mausoleum and slid to the ground. This wall was the one I had been previously backed up against. It would have been my place of death. Both my side and my hand throbbed at the memory. I ignored the pain in favour of trying to logically review what had happened, but I honestly did not know what to think about what had just occurred.

Raoul had looked and acted differently. Yet he had saved my life. He had gone against his brother and had saved my life, but he had also left with him.

My head was lightheaded. I blamed the blood loss for the circularity of my thoughts. I pulled my shirt aside to look at the wound. The gash was rather deep and it was bleeding rather freely. I tore my sleeve and wrapped it tightly around me. I hoped it would stop the blood. I feebly attempted to stand up but failed. Perhaps, I would start the long walk home once I rested a bit. Without horse or carriage, it would take more effort than I currently had, and I thought I saw the sun beginning to show. Maybe it would be a little warmer. It was easy to think about the weather. I wanted to distract myself with thoughts of the humidity levels of the coming days because thinking about Raoul only confused me.

Not to mention that I was worried for him. I wondered what the Comte would do once they were alone. Raoul would certainly be punished. I would have no way to stop him. I was too injured and they were only getting further away. I would never reach them in time and Raoul would probably once again disappear from opera house business. The managers would hardly care since the Comte had already taken over much of the workload.

I should have taken him and left. I should have known that I should keep him near me. I could have protected him then. I could not protect him now. I was supposed to be his saviour. What kind of saviour was I? He was supposed to be mine to protect. He was supposed to be mine. However, he was not.

This was one of the worst mornings I could remember ever experiencing. Yet, I could not bring myself to feel badly. Perhaps, I really had lost too much blood, but I actually felt better right now. I had been so focused on getting rid of the Comte and Christine that I had ignored Raoul. It was ironic and I was disappointed with myself. I had had Raoul in my grasp a number of times already.

There had been the first time when I had kidnapped him at the masquerade. I had cared for him. I had gotten a taste of what touching him had felt like. I had learned to want him even more. Then, I let him go. I had let him leave my home and me.

The second time occurred this morning when I kidnapped him – though that hardly counted as a kidnapping since I only dragged him away for a few seconds. I could have forgotten about his brother and Christine. I could have ignored my anger and just seen his smile. I could have realized how much danger he was really in and taken him away. Instead, I told him to go back. I told him to take Christine back with him.

Then he had appeared again. Once again I had a choice. Christine was in no position to do anything since she was so shocked. The Comte had still been disoriented. What did I do? I did not choose him. I threw Christine at him.

I banged the back of my head against the mausoleum in frustration.

I threw _Christine_ at him. How stupid could I be? I had thought to just take him and go, but instead I chose to send him away again.

Something was still chaining me to that opera house. The option of taking Raoul away had always been there. I could have taken him away from not only the Opera Populaire and his family, but away from Paris. Yet, something stopped me. Something bound me to that building, and I kept returning to it when I obviously should have left so long ago.

How could I lose my focus on him? I wanted him so badly and yet I kept driving him away.

I had done so many things wrong this morning. I did not know why I could feel so relieved. Nothing had gone the way I had planned. Raoul was out of my reach, due to my own idiocy. The Comte was probably hurting him, for which I was still very angry but knew that I currently could not do anything about. Christine could no longer be fooled into thinking that it was safe for her in the opera house, for which I was actually more pleased about than I should be.

But, I had decided on which course to take. I had seen my own faults and knew what I had been doing. I resolved to focus solely on Raoul. I would worry about Philippe and Christine only when I had to. The first opportunity I had, I would take Raoul away from this all. I hoped that opportunity would arise sooner than later. I hoped that the Comte did not hurt him just yet.

There was also that troubling plan to worry about. All of this happened because the Comte had been planning something. He wanted to change Raoul. He probably wanted to make it so that Raoul would never disobey him again. I wondered how he could possibly do that though.

I wondered if he would succeed. I hoped not. I wanted Raoul as he was. I wanted him not because he was the Vicomte or because he was the patron or anything else. Raoul was none of those things when he was with me. He was simply himself with all his failings and strengths. I had not realized what effect that had on me. I too had dropped all the roles I had been playing. It had been Raoul for whom I determined who Erik really was.

I had always hoped there was someone beneath the roles, someone beneath the Opera Ghost and the Angel of Music, but I never once tried to determine who that person was. I only did so when I thought I was going to lose Raoul. Raoul was changing _me_. It was a good change, and I wanted the opportunity to help him as well. I wanted Raoul to be who he was supposed to be, just like I had discovered who I was supposed to be.

Earlier this morning, my thoughts had been so unorganized. I found myself thinking in circles. I had never done so before. I had never been so muddled in my life. There had always been one path for me to walk. There had always been one action for me to take. That was mostly due to the fact that I knew exactly what I wanted and I did not care how I obtained it.

With Raoul though, it seemed that I would go through this cycle of knowing what to do then somehow convincing myself that another way was better. I had blamed it on not being used to considering other people's emotions. It had been a good excuse since I hardly managed my emotions well enough. How was I ever going to be able to manage another's?

Now, my thoughts were once again clear. It was almost the clarity that I had experienced on the rooftop one month ago. I knew what I wanted and I knew what I was going to do. Everything would be fine now.

I had been taking the easy path. I had allowed myself to waver in what I wanted. At the time, I could still lie to myself and say that I was doing everything for Raoul's own benefit. It was just another role I had made for myself though. It was a role that had been easy to fall into but one that was based solely on lies, on this pedestal with which I held Raoul, and my "obsession" for him.

It was easy to see now that though I was obsessed, there was something more. There was something deeper. I now understood desire. Obsession or love. It had been the distinction I had not fully understood. It was frightening but I now understood that what I felt was not completely obsession. The helplessness and hope. The desperation and desire. The longing… and love. It was there and I saw it clearly now. I needed him and wanted to need him.

Today would be a brand new day. It would be a brand new life for me where only Erik existed. I felt bare. I felt lighter than I had felt in my entire life, as though some burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

I stood up feeling better. It may have just been a temporary burst of energy, but I headed towards the opera house almost joyfully. I could hardly wait to see Raoul again. I would take him then.

The truth was laid bare before me. I loved him. When I thought it now, I believed it completely. They were not just words. There was a meaning in it that seemed to make me feel better.

There was nothing beneath the illusions I had made for myself. The illusions covered up our inadequacies. They gave characteristics that were never there. Illusions were nothing compared to what _was_ actually there. The illusion of love meant nothing compared to the actuality of it.

There was nothing beneath the actions. I had been working towards the wrong goal. I had made all the wrong decisions before. Those actions had been nothing but mistakes, mistakes that I would no longer make.

There was nothing beneath the roles. There were actually no more roles. Those roles, like the illusions, had been covering emptiness, but not the emptiness of having nothing. It was the emptiness because of lack of purpose. I had needed roles because I had not been strong enough to make myself be who I wanted. There had been no one until I had determined that there was only Erik.

There was no one to acknowledge me. But, walking past these graves and these past lives, I realized that acknowledgement did not equate existence. These bones beneath the ground could very well not exist. I could not see them and their visitors could not see them. Yet, it was insisted that they existed because they existed in memory, but I hardly considered that existence. The mind has always been cruel. Memories or dreams. They hardly had a difference. Survival was life and life was experience. I existed simply because I wanted to, because I could see the snow on the ground, because I could smell the soil beneath my feet, because I could hear the whisper of the trees and the song of the birds, because I could feel the morning air and the heat of the rising of the sun. More importantly, I existed because I could feel a myriad of emotions that encompassed the whole spectrum of human existence. I had the capacity to be more. Those bones beneath the ground could be nothing more than fodder for animals.

There was nothing beneath the mask. There was only emptiness. For the longest time now, there _had been_ nothing beneath the mask. Now, it felt as though the mask did not exist. I felt as though I wore no masks. I no longer wanted to be that faceless, insubstantial individual. There was nothing beneath the mask: no hope, no truth, no worthwhile emotion. There were no more masks.

There were only chains, chains that I now saw. They were chains that I could not fully understand and was only now beginning to pull against.

There was no one left.

No one but Raoul. No one mattered but him.

Everything of my old life could be disposed. I would dispose the unnecessary weight. All I had to do was let go. Let go of my past conceptions and past prejudices. All I had to do to move forward was leave the past behind.

I let go.

I let the past die as I left the cemetery and headed toward the future.

o.o.o

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End ch18

word count: 13,908

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Stupid Erik and his bad wording with "he's mine". If only Raoul understood what kind of good possessiveness Erik has of him! At least he's had a revelation though. Things are looking up for him (too bad he doesn't know what's happened with Raoul, but he will soon enough).

Do you notice how the endings are way different than the body of the chapter? I think I went a little overboard on this one, but it's just a mood I'm in currently.

A/N: I know I said I wouldn't do these anymore, but you guys' reviews are awesome and way flattering. I don't know what to say. Now, I'm a little on the worried side that I might write like crap. It's okay though; the reviews make me want to write better, not to mention more (which is always good)… thanks to whatevergirl, White Sherry, PuppetofDreams, Psychos-Anonymous, Zee, Mithril Maiden, The Stunning Lies of Lullabies, xdark.flowerx, luisadeza, and Mistoffelees. You know, as I was writing down your sn's, I realized they're pretty darn awesome. It seems I need to be a little more innovative in deciding these things. :oP

Until next time… when bad news gets worse and you'll all find out what I did to Raoul.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Stupid Vicomte.

Warning(s): nothing bad in this chapter actually.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Holy crap... that was 5 days of not being able to post! Don't be mad at me. I had it done. --;

**Story note**: The Raoul we know and love is gone. Whatever shall we do?! If you look on the bright side, at least he's not angsty anymore!

Oh, and I rearranged this part. It did not work the other way around, so I placed the "Twisted in Every way" (i.e. "We have all been blind") portion after the "Wishing you were somehow here again". I was not sure if anyone would notice, but I figured it was best to note it anyway. It won't be a songfic, but you will definitely notice their dialogue to be from that part. I abridged it because I was not even certain that I should add it. We all know the conversation they had, but it needed to be built up, and I figured Raoul's character could be further expounded upon in such a section.

Enjoy

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 19

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul's POV

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Last time:

There was no one left.

No one.

Everything could be disposed. I would dispose the unnecessary weight. Maybe I would lose the weight that was holding me under the water, under the surface of life. Maybe I would float to the surface.

I was drowning, and now I knew that there was no one out there to save me. I would simply die.

I closed my eyes on the bed and let my body drift for a moment. I reviewed the hopes I had once had. I thought of happiness and hope. I thought of struggles and successes. I thought of things that I would never know again. I now only knew despair so I wrapped myself in those happy memories for just a little while. I let myself float in that cocoon of good memories.

Then…

I let go.

o.o.o

I rolled over slowly. My body ached and I blinked to get the sleep out of my eyes, but I realized that it was not sleep. My room was dark, and looking out through my windows, it was dark outside as well. How long had I been asleep?

The better question was: why was I sleeping at all? I remembered having a bad morning. I remembered leaving the opera house to chase after Christine. Then the Opera Ghost had tried to lure her to him. He and Philippe fought and we left. However, I could not remember why I had been so upset. It did not seem like the best way to start the morning, but looking back on it, it was not incredibly bad.

I shook my head and stood up. I stretched languidly and felt my joints pop. My wounds were healing quite nicely and whatever pain flared, I ignored it easily since I was not so weak to be affected by physical injury. It felt too good to be awake. It felt good to have finally slept on a bed. It was not respectable for a Vicomte to sleep on a chair. I could allow it since I had been doing it for the sake of a lady. It was proper for a Vicomte to be chivalrous. However, I could not deny that the best place for a Vicomte to sleep would be in his own bed on his own estate.

On the other hand, it was not proper to have wanted to marry Christine. I still had some allegiance to her since she had been a childhood friend, but whatever had possessed me to think that I should marry her? It made no sense whatsoever when I thought about it now. She was an opera rat. I was a Vicomte. Those two worlds should never mix. They never could. I could see it clearly now.

It felt as though a cloud had been lifted from above my head. It felt as though the past few months had all been experienced in a haze. That was over now. I had wasted too much time with all these dalliances. I had much to do and no time to waste on such insignificant people.

I looked around my room and frowned. It was so messy. I wondered if a maid ever came to clean this room. I would have to find someone later and yell at them. Worse though, I realized that I myself was a mess. I gingerly picked at the clothes I was wearing and could not believe that I was wearing such rags. I went through my closet and frowned at the selection. I had not bought new clothes in a while and all of these were rather out of fashion. Once again, I could not help but wonder what I had been thinking.

I chose the least hideous ensemble and dressed. I stood in front of my mirror and checked my appearance. It was important for a Vicomte to look his best at all times even if he was only going to dinner. I brushed some lint off my shoulder and looked at my overall appearance. There was something wrong. I still looked too… common. I looked too disheveled. Then I realized what it was. I needed to fix my hair. It was all in disarray and looked horrendous.

I fussed with it for a long while until I absolutely had it the way I wanted. It was difficult; nothing seemed right. When I was pleased with my appearance, I headed towards the door to leave.

I cast a cursory glance around the room looking to see if I needed anything else when I saw it. A cloak lay crumpled at the head of my bed. I stared at it in confusion before remembering that it had gotten stuck on me at the cemetery. It was the Opera Ghost's.

I wondered about him. By all accounts, he should be a foe. Yet, he had helped me when I had been injured.

I felt a sudden flash of pain but could not pinpoint from where it had come. It did not feel like it had come from one of my wounds. I shrugged it off as an anomaly and continued my assessment of him.

Simply put, he was a madman. He broke backdrops and killed crew members. He continuously tried to destroy all our best laid business plans. He terrorized our prima donna. He was much too dangerous. He had even kidnapped Christine and had tried to do so again this morning. He caused more trouble than good.

On the other hand, I could not completely ignore his change of character these last few days. He had his moments when his madness seemed to lessen. I could also not forget to repay my debt to him. Vicomtes always repaid their debts.

Then, it was decided. I would return his cloak to him the first opportunity I had. I would warn him that if he tried anything again, I would have to deal with him. It seemed the proper thing to do. I could not just attack him unprovoked when it appeared that he had turned a new leaf. However, if there were any indication that he planned anything, I would have to stop him with force if necessary.

There was still the opera he had ordered us to produce. Don Juan Triumphant, had it not been? I doubted it, but perhaps he simply wanted his opera to be performed without having ulterior motives. I greatly doubted it though. How could he not have something planned? I could allow it for now though. I knew that Christine did not want to perform, so maybe these suspicions would be pointless. Either way though, I knew Philippe would be able to handle anything that the Opera Ghost tried. He was dependable as such… unlike me.

I forgot things too easily. I tried, but I was never good enough. It had been stupid of me to chase after them this morning without my sword. I should have realized that it would have been dangerous. Luckily, Philippe had been there. He was well prepared. I needed to be more like him.

I picked up the cloak and folded it neatly before carrying it beneath my arm. It was probably best to return this tonight. I would see if Philippe was going to the opera house tonight, and I would ask him if I could join him.

I walked through the hallway and downstairs. Turning the corner, it felt surreal. Some part of me remembered that time more than a month ago. I had walked down this hallway not realizing that Philippe had finally come home. Everything had changed the moment he had arrived. Things had changed, but truthfully, things had been changing even before then.

I had taken this walk many times in my life and I wondered why my mind would fixate on that time. Moreover, I had been walking to the breakfast nook then so I wondered why I thought of it now that I was heading towards the dining room. In the end, since I could not pinpoint the reason why I remembered the past, I ignored it.

It should be around dinner time right now, and even if it were not, I would order the servants to get me my meal. They should have already anticipated my needs and had it prepared.

I turned the corner and saw Philippe and my mother sitting down and eating. I bowed at the entrance and greeted them, "Good evening, mother, Philippe. I apologize for my indolence. I do not know what came over me."

Philippe sat at the head of the table with my mother to his right. I took the seat to his left and placed the cloak on the chair beside mine. I noticed that they had barely started their dinner. Fully seated I waited a moment before, snapping at the butler who had not even bothered to move but was staring at me dumbly. "My dinner?" I asked irately. Did I have to do his job for him?

He hastily moved from the wall from where he stood and agitatedly nodded before exiting through the kitchen door. I looked at him oddly. Had our servants always been so lackadaisical? I considered firing him, but I was in a good mood and therefore decided to simply dock his pay. He would thank me.

It took me a moment to realize that Philippe and my mother had not said a word the moment I had entered the room and were staring at me.

I asked with genuine interest, "Whatever's the matter?"

They continued to stare at me. When I realized that they were not going to respond, I informed them, "It's quite rude to stare."

I could not understand why they were acting so strangely.

They shared a look between them, and I rolled my eyes. That was more rude. I was about to comment when the butler returned with my food. He placed it before me with an apology. He poured my wine and then stood at his place by the wall. I ignored him and placed the napkin on my lap. Taking a sip of wine, I looked at Philippe and my mother.

They were still staring. My mother looked rather puzzled. I did not think that she could say anything if she tried. I looked at Philippe and saw that he was not puzzled but rather intrigued. I looked to him for an explanation. He stared at me with a calculative gaze before he seemed pleased.

Philippe looked me in the eyes and said directly, "What happened to you?"

I wanted to roll my eyes. That had been a rather inane question. I obviously thought nothing was wrong with me. They were the ones staring. I tried to make him elaborate. I did not know when he had become so obscure. "Do I have something on my face?" I took my napkin and wiped the edge of my lip.

My mother shook her head.

I tried again and made my confusion known. I was beginning to become annoyed, "What do you mean what happened to me?"

Philippe seemed to like that response. He visibly relaxed and smiled at me rather predatorily. He leaned back in his chair and commented, "You cut your hair."

Was that why they were staring? I ran a hand through my hair. The sensation was odd since I was used to long hair, but I felt relieved to have it short. I had been staring at the mirror and realized that no matter what I did to my hair, I would still be dissatisfied with it. It was not the style. It had been the length. No respectable Vicomte had his hair long, so I had cut my hair. Now, it was now shorter than Philippe's, but it was the style of the day. I wondered if they could even appreciate that fact.

I shrugged and took another sip of wine, "It irked me. A Vicomte should have short hair anyway." I stated simply.

Philippe leaned forward onto the table and holding his chin on his hand, he replied, "Indeed. A Vicomte should."

From the corner of my eye, I saw my mother relax, too. She and Philippe shared another look. I did not bother to be annoyed. They would share looks. I knew them to have a bond with each other that I could never fully comprehend or become a part. They resumed eating and I looked at the food on my plate. It did not look very edible.

My mother commented vaguely, "I do not know why I doubted you."

Philippe smiled arrogantly, "I do not know why either."

I ignored them resolutely and began to eat. After the first bite, I slammed my fork down on the table and glared at the butler who had started at the loud noise. "Out of what receptacle did you pull this food?" I said angrily, "Give me something I will like."

I was a Vicomte. I deserved the best, not this garbage. It was cold and it tasted so bland. One of the other servants rushed to get my plate. I looked at her with disdain. Damn servants. Who did they think they were thinking that I would eat such low class food? I took a sip of the wine. At least this wine was perfect. I would have to visit the cellar and see if we had more of this vintage.

I realized belatedly that Philippe and my mother were staring at me again. I looked at them oddly. I could not understand why they kept looking at me as such. I was about to verbalize this feeling when the servant returned hastily with new food. I was surprised. That had been rather quick. I nodded my approval of her. Trying the food, I realized this was probably the best it would be. The servant hovered uncertainly near me. I gave her a dirty look before dismissing her with a simple wave of my hand.

Philippe looked at me, but spoke to our mother, "And I had worried that Raoul had changed too much in my absence."

I had mostly been ignoring them, but I heard his comment. My mind felt preoccupied. I could not pinpoint why exactly, but my thoughts kept drifting away. I could not focus, and I was disappointed with myself. A Vicomte should be able to not only focus, but make polite conversation at the dinner table. His sentence caught my attention though, "You were speaking of me?"

He looked at me rather challengingly for what reason I could not discern, "Oh, yes. I was telling mother how you hadn't changed much from when we last parted."

My mother agreed, "Indeed you hadn't. I do not so mind this change though."

This change? Why were they speaking of change?

I considered Philippe's statement. It did not seem to be an insult, but I knew that Philippe had a rather sharp tongue, one that I was trying to obtain as well. Instead of responding to their obscure statements, I changed the topic at hand, "Are you planning to go to the opera house tonight?" It was not good to show one's confusion. That was a weakness that could easily be hidden by garnering their attention in another manner. Philippe's lessons ran through my head.

Philippe suddenly perked. I became wary of him. He was a shrewd man and it was necessary for him to be so in order to thrive as the Comte. However, I never felt comfortable when he had that look in his eye.

He replied, "Now that you bring it to my attention, I do need to meet the managers. Do you wish to accompany me?"

"I would," I wondered what he was planning. It was probably something brilliant. He had such incredible ideas.

I spent the rest of the dinner silent and lost in my own thoughts. Philippe spoke only to my mother. I would hear small phrases and I was certain he was talking about me. Though it was rude, he was the Comte and head of the family so I could do nothing about it. He spoke about how my 'change' went better than he had planned. Had I changed? I thought he had told me that I _hadn't_ changed. I tried not to worry about it, but every time he mentioned it, I felt as though I was missing something important. If it were really important though, I would immediately know why, wouldn't I? So, whatever it was, I would remember it when I needed to. Furthermore, I was confident that Philippe would inform me if it were something truly pressing.

I ate my dinner not particularly paying attention to anything else. Since I was not involved in their conversation I focused on trying to remember what happened this past month. Everything seemed to be only a dream. I could not understand my actions much less my emotions. It was not just this past month either but these past few months that I could not understand my motives. I had been myself and yet not. I had not acted like a proper Vicomte, but was there any other way I could act?

I was pulled out of my thoughts when Philippe stood up. He placed his napkin on the table and said, "We are leaving now. I'll be waiting in the carriage outside."

I nodded and hurriedly stood up grabbing the cloak. I bade my mother good bye and she smiled politely back at me. Catching up with him, Philippe looked at the cloak but did not ask me about it. I was certain he knew whose it was so I did not feel it necessary to tell him. Perhaps he already knew what I had planned.

The carriage ride was silent. Words were rarely shared between us. We were rarely ever in the same place actually. It was mostly because as a Vicomte, I had my domain and Philippe, as a Comte, had his own. It was tiresome that he had come home and decided to take over, but he knew what was best. I would retake my position though as soon as I deemed it necessary. I was a Vicomte and I would keep what was rightfully mine even if I had to fight Philippe for it. Technically though, all that I owned was Philippe's. I did not like that prospect. I decided then that I would learn from him as much as I could and then hopefully be able to one day surpass him. I would usurp every position he held, and he would never see it coming.

Arriving at the opera house, Philippe turned to me. I stared at him guilelessly.

"I will meet with the managers first. Get your business done and meet me back in the main hall." He began walking away and left me standing there wondering how he possibly knew that I _did_ have business to attend to. Hopefully, he did not know what I had just decided upon. He was forcing my hand though. He had usurped my position as patron.

Philippe paused and turned back to me, "You still have much to learn before you can even attempt it."

I did not respond but knew that I had been caught. He briskly turned and strode confidently away. Was I so easy to read? How could I surpass him if he knew what I was thinking when I had just barely formed the idea? He knew before I could even fully prepare myself. He was right though. I did have much to learn. I had been failing as the patron. I had let the Opera Ghost run wild. I had let my infatuation with Christine distract me from performing my true duty as the patron of the Opera Populaire. Philippe had every right to take it away from me. That would stop now. I was not the man I had been before.

Looking at the cloak in my arms, I realized I had somewhere to be. I headed towards the only place I knew the Opera Ghost to appear consistently. I walked towards Box 5. The hallways were empty and the opera house was disturbingly quiet. There were no practice sessions being held. Everyone had refused to prepare for Don Juan Triumphant. I did not think it a bright idea, but Philippe was in charge now. I wondered if the Opera Ghost would do anything drastic if his opera were not performed. He seemed to have changed though. Change? That word seemed to linger in my mind. It had come up more times than was normal this evening. Was everyone changing?

As I approached Box 5, I realized that he might not be there. It was not as though there was anything to watch. However, it was the only place I was certain he visited. I could drop it off in Christine's room, but I did not think it proper to invade a woman's space. I entered the box hoping that he would be there, but it was empty. I stood there disappointed. How was I ever going to repay my debt if I could not find him?

Perhaps I could leave him a note. It was not the best way to issue an ultimatum, but a note would do fine. I was certain he would appreciate the irony of it all. I stepped out into the empty hallway. I decided to head back to the managers' office in search for some paper and a writing utensil.

"Raoul."

"Who?" I turned around angrily at the use of my first name. There standing in the once empty hallway was the Opera Ghost. Somewhere my mind supplied a name that seemed to hold some meaning, but I could not determine just what. "Erik."

He looked to be smiling but I could not properly tell.

It seemed wrong when the name came out however. It made me feel uncomfortable. Therefore, I reverted back to what I knew he called himself, "Monsieur OG."

He noticeably frowned this time. He stepped closer and I took a step back in response. He may have treated me kindly a few times, but he had also harmed me as well. His frown deepened. He tilted his head to the side and it felt as though his eyes were trying to bore into my mind. He looked at me so intensely. I felt myself rebel at such an intrusive gaze.

He looked at me oddly before saying, "Raoul?"

My irritation at his familiarity with me was rising, "Please, Monsieur, do not call me as such."

His expression hardened and it was his turn to take a step backwards. "Vicomte."

I offered him a smile and nodded my head. "I would very much appreciate it if you continue to address me properly."

He stood there with an unreadable expression. I thought it a good sign that he was keeping his distance. Perhaps he had truly turned over a new leaf now that he knew he could not beat Philippe.

I held out his cloak to him. "I wanted to return this to you."

He looked at the cloak as though I were offering him poison. "What happened?"

He was the second person to ask that question. What made them think something had happened?

He stayed where he was, but I had the impression that he wanted to move towards me. "You cut your hair," he said with distaste. Faster than I had time to react, he had grabbed my arm and pulled me close. He tugged so harshly that I almost ran into him. I caught myself but ended up standing closer than I would have liked. I struggled rather in vain. Once I stopped struggling though, he released my arm. Apparently, he just wanted me closer.

We were standing close enough that I had to look up to meet his eyes. From this vantage point, his stature and everything about him was rather intimidating, but if he thought he could intimidate a Vicomte so easily, he was going to be surprised. I glared at him and refused to back away. If he wanted us this close, I would show him that he in no way scared me. Such tactics were too simple to be effective.

"You cut your hair," he repeated in something that sounded like disappointment. What was there to be disappointed about? And why did he too fixate on such a small thing as hair? It was only hair, and it was my hair so it was my business to do whatever I chose to do to it.

I shrugged, "If I did?"

He first insulted me by calling me without my title and then he jerked me forward. What point was he trying to make? I was further insulted when he reached out and ran his fingers through my hair. I was not some boy whose hair could be tousled or some animal to be petted. I jerked away from him. "Monsieur." I frowned at him. With his hand suspended in air, he stood frozen. I took a step back. His actions were becoming increasingly odd.

He dropped his arm. "Raoul." He called out to me even though I had not moved very far from him.

I did not respond. I did not know what he was thinking or what he wanted from me. How could I respond?

"Raoul," he called again as though he were pleading with me. Pleading? I could not describe it any other way. The Opera Ghost pleading with me seemed so incongruent with whom he was. He was trying to trick me.

This time I did respond. He should respect my authority, "Monsieur, I told you to desist calling me so familiarly."

He stood there and I could tell he was not pleased at all. "What happened? Did Philippe do this?"

I looked at him in pure confusion. How was my life his business? "The only thing to have happened was your grabbing me."

The Opera Ghost seemed to be deep in thought. I felt a loss for what to do. Of all the things that I expected from the Opera Ghost, this was not one of them. What would Philippe do? Well, he would be a gentleman and return the cloak. He would give his ultimatum and be done with his debt. I figured if Philippe would do as much, then so would I.

"I simply came here to return your cloak." He looked up at me, and I felt myself shift uncomfortably under that gaze. What was it about him that made me squirm? I was stronger than that. A Vicomte should not be so weak. How many times had I heard those words pass through Philippe's mouth?

The only thing that ran through my mind however was that I needed to get away from him. He was my adversary and probably one who could defeat me. It would be intelligent to leave. I would not run though. A Vicomte should not run so shamefully. "To repay my debt to you, I'm offering you this one last chance to prove that you will do no more harm to this opera house or its occupants. If I even sense some indication that you are planning anything or have done anything, I will kill you."

He reached out and it took all my self control not to flinch away. I stood proudly and stared at him. He grabbed the cloak and looked at it. He stepped towards me again and I stood firmly in place.

Was he trying to intimidate me still? His expression did not seem to be angry or menacing. His eyes caught mine and it felt as though I could not move. He stepped even closer and this time I wanted to move but simply could not.

"What do you want?" I managed to say without showing the uncertainty I felt. I was glad that my voice had not wavered.

I did not think he could, but his gaze seemed to intensify. My heart was suddenly beating very loudly in my chest. I felt a nagging sensation in the back of my mind but it stayed so elusive I could not tell what it meant.

I convinced myself that my heart was beating so quickly only because I thought he was going to kill me. Yes, that was the reason. Except… except I did not think he was going to kill me. I did not get that impression at all from his stance or his gaze.

His hand once again grabbed my right arm, but this time the touch was light. He was already so close that he need not pull me anywhere.

"Come with me," he spoke earnestly. He spoke differently. His voice had taken a deeper tone and a softer volume. It reminded me of when he sang. It was almost as though he were singing. It was mesmerizing.

I did not respond because I did not actually hear the words he spoke. I only heard the quality and tenor of his voice. It seemed to reverberate through me. It felt as though this web had been spun around me keeping me immobile and keeping my thoughts fuzzy.

"Come with me," he said again. I had to focus to actually hear the words.

He had said _'Come with me'_ my mind repeated. The only thing that came to mind in response besides a resounding '_yes_' was what fell from my lips, "Where? Why?" I knew that the response I really wanted to say were not those questions. I… the blue of his eyes were so intense… wait. I looked away though I still could not make my body move away. I should not care where he wanted to go. I was forgetting something, something important.

"Raoul," he softly crooned.

I lost my train of thought and I immediately sought his eyes. "Yes," the response was immediate. I had not wanted to respond though. Those blue eyes bore into me. I struggled even though everything was telling me to just give in.

The hand on my arm had begun to stroke it gently, up and down. It was soothing.

"Let me take you away from all this."

It sounded like the perfect idea when he said it. I suddenly wanted to go wherever he wanted to.

"Come with me."

I felt myself nodding. There was something I had to remember. Why was it so hard to think right now?

"Away from this place…"

I could run away with him. It was so enticing. He took a step backwards. I did not know where he was going and even though the hand that held my arm was by no means pulling me, I found myself taking a step with him.

"… away from Paris…"

Yes, Paris was troublesome. He stepped further and it felt as though I were stepping away from myself. I had not wanted to go, but why? The desire to follow him wherever he went was so strong. Just follow him.

"… away from Philippe…"

Philippe? I blinked rapidly at the name. I could get away from Philippe and the pain he dealt out so easily. However, I felt my mind clearing.

I held some animosity towards Philippe, but whatever he had done to me had made me into the person I was today. I had become a better Vicomte for it. All these scars and wounds were there because I was less than what I was supposed to be. I was not a proper Vicomte and I had to be taught a lesson because of my failings. Just as Philippe was a proper Comte, I too had to uphold the Chagny name. I had to maintain our standing in society.

I could not run away. I could not hide from my duty. It _was_ a duty. It was the reason I was alive. Who did he think he was to me that I would even consider running away with him? Why had I even considered it?

"Raoul," he crooned again, but the effect was gone.

I was not Raoul. I was the Vicomte de Chagny.

I stepped away from him. His expression changed to something I could not quite name. He had tried to trick me again. I pulled my arm away from him, but he closed his fingers around it. I tried to forcefully yank it away from his grasp but only managed to wrench my shoulder painfully. I cried out in pain and the Opera Ghost momentarily loosened his hold on my arm. The vice grip returned though. His expression changed to one of frustration. I could read it easily on his expression now.

"Raoul." He said firmly as a warning.

I growled at him, "Vicomte. Do not test me, Monsieur."

He began to drag me away without another word. I tried to dig my heels into the carpet but he was simply too strong. My wounds were making their existence known. I had been able to ignore them so far, but this was too much movement. I tried not to whimper, but I was certain a few had fallen from my lips.

Philippe had been right. I had much to learn. He was too strong for me. I would have to find another way to get to him. Then I remembered this morning. He had been bleeding, but it looked as though he could move without any pain. I wondered briefly how he could do so. There had been much blood. He walked without any problems. The best bet was somewhere on the abdomen. I was loathe to do this to a man whose only fault lay in trying to kidnap the wrong people. It was not an egregious act of misconduct considering his record, and since it was only against me, I found that I could ignore it. I should be able to handle myself and if I could not, then it was my own fault. Since my right hand was currently immobilized I swung my left hand as hard as I could towards his stomach hoping that he would release my arm long enough for me to escape. I connected solidly with his abdomen and he doubled over immediately.

He did not cry out but the hiss of pain that escaped his mouth seemed louder to me than I had expected. He released my arm almost immediately in favour of holding his stomach in pain. I turned and ran away from him. I looked over my shoulder expecting him to be following me, but the last I saw of him was his form curled up on the floor in the middle of the hallway. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

When I felt far enough from him, I slowed to a walk. I was breathing heavily and tried to calm down. It was beginning to hurt moving this much. I forced the pain back though. There were more important things to worry about. Why had I run? It had been the fight or flight response. I had not wanted to fight for some reason. I should have killed him. I should have taken his hostility with me to be the proof I needed to know that he had not changed. I had given the ultimatum but I had so easily let him harm me. He was stronger than I was, but at that moment, he had not seemed able to move at all. I had let the opportunity slip away.

As a Vicomte and the patron of Opera Populaire, it had been my duty to protect this establishment. The Opera Ghost had tried to kidnap me and I had let him go. Philippe would have never let this happen.

I reached the main hall and was about to head up the stairs to meet Philippe at the managers' office when I saw the managers, Philippe, and Carlotta standing at the top of the stairwell. I stayed where I was still unnoticed by them and watched.

"Have you seen the size of my part?" Carlotta screeched. She may be the prima donna, but her voice had never been meant to take the lead of an opera. Christine was indeed more suited to such roles. There was also the fact that Christine brought in more revenue. She was a commodity that could easily be sold. Carlotta looked pretty, but she would lose to Christine any day. At least the Opera Ghost had some business savvy in him.

"Signora, listen," Firmin tried to respond.

Carlotta cut him off. She punctuated her point by poking him on the chest, "It's an insult."

Firmin looked flustered. I waited to see what Philippe would do. It was his opera house for now since he had taken over since his arrival. The anger I felt had dimmed. Though it was a Vicomte's duty and _I_ was the patron, my encounter with the Opera Ghost only further punctuated Philippe's necessary presence.

Philippe's attention had shifted from the argument. Christine had arrived.

"Ah!" Carlotta sarcastically sneered, "Here's our little flower!"

Christine did not respond to her taunt. I looked at her. She was truly beautiful, but what had I been thinking? Beauty meant nothing without standing. She was merely a chorus girl.

Andre interjected, "Quite the lady of the hour. You have secured the largest role in this 'Don Juan'."

Carlotta could not help but start an argument, "She's the one behind this." She accused and Christine looked thoroughly insulted.

They began to exchange verbal spars when Philippe noticed me. He slipped away from the scene that Christine and Carlotta were creating and headed down towards the stairs.

"Did you see him?" Philippe asked.

I nodded. I did not bother to elucidate since he apparently knew why I had requested to accompany him.

He stood there watching me impatiently, "And?"

I shrugged, "He took the cloak and tried to kidnap me."

Philippe leaned forward in interest, "Kidnap you?"

I nodded.

"How did you possibly get away?" He said as though he were truly astonished I had managed to escape.

He thought so little of me. However, he and the Opera Ghost had fought before, so Philippe knew what strength he had. I _had been_ too weak to escape. It was only because of his wound and my good fortune was I able to. "He was weakened by the wound you delivered him this morning."

He grinned. "So he's still alive."

Philippe looked really pleased at the news. I would think that he should be more worried. The probabilities of something going awry at the showing of Don Juan Triumphant had increased… if it was to be performed at all.

Christine's and Carlotta's voices became louder.

"You think I'm blind?"

"This isn't my fault! I don't want any part in this plot!"

Philippe cast a glance back towards them. I too looked. The managers were rather engrossed with their argument. They appeared almost reluctant to stop it. The prospects of Christine and Carlotta physically fighting and ripping off clothes did seem rather probable. I too waited in anticipation.

Firmin, ever being the business minded one cut in, "You have a duty!"

"I cannot sing it," Christine stepped away from them, "duty or not!"

She looked to Philippe then. Her eyes pleaded with him, but I could not determine for what reason. She was waiting for his lead. Her eyes fell upon me and I noticed that she hesitated for a moment. She did a double take as though she had not realized that it had been me.

Philippe started up the stairs, and I trailed behind him.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Andre looked at me in confusion, "Who…?"

Firmin cut him off, "Monsieur le Vicomte."

He nudged Andre. Andre looked flustered, "I almost did not recognize you. I think your haircut looks rather nice."

I rolled my eyes. He did not 'almost not recognize' me. He _had not_ recognized me.

He asked, "Why did you cut it?"

Did everyone have to focus on my hair?

Christine commented in a voice that clearly said 'I told you so', "You look rather dashing."

Carlotta stopped her whining for a moment to nod her head in agreement.

They were all staring at me. I stood confidently and looked at them all indifferently. Their comments warranted no response. They should not even speak to me so easily. I should command their respect, and they should not bother with my business. I looked to Philippe.

"We have all been blind," he commented as though a realization had come upon him, "and yet the answer is staring us in the face."

Everyone's attention suddenly turned to him. The managers were aptly paying attention. All eyes were on him, and I could tell that he was thoroughly enjoying the attention. I stayed partially behind him and waited to hear his plan.

"This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend…" He once again left us in anticipation.

"We're listening."

"Go on."

They were in Philippe's grasp now. I watched him in admiration. He indeed knew how to have his way. I needed to hone my own skills to be able to do so. This was a perfect opportunity to watch him and learn.

"We shall play his game – perform his work – but remember we hold the ace," Philippe looked at Christine then. Understanding what he was planning, Christine began to walk away. Philippe followed her and we followed him.

I finished his thought, "For, if Miss Daae sings, he is certain to attend."

Philippe glanced at me approvingly.

"We make certain the doors are barred," Philippe added.

The managers understood the plan now as well.

"We make certain our men are there…"

"We make certain they're armed."

Christine stopped walking suddenly and spun around at us, "Madness!"

We almost ran into her.

"I'm not so sure," I commented. She looked at me as though I had betrayed her.

She whispered, "You too?"

She did not seem so upset though. One could easily tell that she was not wholly against the plan. She was only indulging herself in knowing that she had so much power over us. We _had _to convince her, and she knew it.

I shrugged at her whispered question. The plan was brilliant. I _had_ told the Opera Ghost that if he did plan something, I would kill him. If he did not disturb us at all on the premier of Don Juan Triumphant, he would not have to worry about being caught. "Not if it works."

"This is madness!" She reiterated and began walking away again.

This time Philippe did not follow her. Instead, he turned around and faced the managers as well as Carlotta.

Andre asserted, "The tide will turn."

Carlotta reiterated her belief. She pointed in the direction where Christine had walked away, "She's the one behind this. Christine."

We all looked at her skeptically. It was obvious she was simply upset about not having a larger part.

"This is all her doing," she continued, "This is the truth."

Firmin ignored her, "This is his undoing. If you succeed you free us all."

Carlotta stood there indignant that no one was listening to her.

"If Christine helps us in this plan," Andre brought to our attention.

It was true. This plan depended on Christine. The Opera Ghost was obsessed with her. He would only come if she sang.

I agreed, "If Christine won't, then no one can."

Carlotta looked at me with disdain.

Philippe cleared his throat. When the managers looked at him, he ordered them, "Get everything prepared. Have all the performers ready, but also make certain that we save the date of the premier. Inform the police of our plan now so that they can be well prepared as well. We need many able bodied men."

They nodded.

"But what of Christine?" Firmin asked.

Philippe confidently replied, "You let me worry about such things. Go and have everything prepared. We need this perfect."

I rolled my eyes, as though Philippe would have it any other way but perfect.

The managers and Carlotta walked away and I was about to follow them when Philippe called me, "Raoul. You're coming with me."

I nodded and followed him as he walked down the hallway we had seen Christine walk down.

"Philippe," I kept stride with him. "We must tread lightly. We have seen him kill. He may do so again."

Philippe looked away. "I know this well, Raoul." He was silent for a while and I thought he was going to remain so until he commented, "What did you say to him?"

I did not bother to pretend to wonder about whom he was speaking. He would see right through the ruse anyway. "I told him that to repay my debt, I would leave him be unless there was an indication that he meant to harm the opera house again," I replied. Had I not done the right thing? I looked to Philippe for some confirmation.

He mulled over this, "As a Vicomte, it was honourable to want to repay your debt to him. However, as the patron, you should have killed him the moment you had a chance."

I nodded at his sage words.

"You must kill him," Philippe reinforced, "He is a very dangerous man who only wants to exploit you to get to Christine. You must kill him. It is your duty."

I nodded once more. It was settled. If Philippe said to do so, it was best. I would have to kill the Opera Ghost the next time I saw him.

We saw Christine at a distance. She had stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. Philippe paused before she noticed us, "Help me comfort her." He smiled at me rather evilly. He was scheming once more. I could do nothing but listen to him though. "You know her better." He added and the look was gone. I wondered if it had been my imagination.

We walked up to her, and she looked up at us with tears in her eyes.

She smiled weakly at me, "You do look rather handsome with your hair cut, Raoul."

She reached out to touch my hair and I ducked under her hand.

I disregarded her statement and told her. "You know why we've come here. Do you not?"

She looked at me distastefully before ignoring me. She turned her attention fully on Philippe. I shrugged and simply moved to the side to watch. I had tried, but it was not my fault if she was going to try to change the subject.

"Philippe," she moved closer to him, "I'm frightened. Don't make me do this."

Philippe's expression softened but he did not respond.

"Philippe," she tried again, "it scares me. Don't put me through this ordeal by fire."

He held her hands gently in his. A part of me told me that I should be furious. This was the very thing that he had forbidden between Christine and me. How could he so freely do so in front of me? I ignored that part of me though. I trusted whatever Philippe had in mind. He was smart and he had the best interests of the Chagny name in mind. I could never forget that. It had been I who had almost let shame come upon our household. It had been me.

She looked around paranoid. Whispering so that I had to strain my ears to hear, she spoke to Philippe, "He does not want me."

The Phantom did not want Christine? She should know best on the subject, but I doubted it. He cast her in the lead role in an opera that I was certain he had written specifically for her. He had stolen our engagement ring saying, '_Your chains are still mine. You belong to me._' I caught Philippe's eyes and shrugged. I did not believe it. Maybe he was trying to convince Christine he did not want her so that she would lower her guard.

Philippe nodded shallowly. He considered her statement for a moment and seemed to agree with me, "Perhaps he does not, but I do believe he will appear."

Christine did not look like she appreciated being bait. She pleaded still, "He'll take me, I know." Apparently, she also knew that he would take her if the opportunity presented itself. The way she said it though, I did not believe she thought that he would take her alive. She was convinced he would harm her, and I could not see where she had gotten the idea. She quickly glanced at me suddenly uncertain if she should go on. I saw Philippe squeeze her hands and nod his head almost imperceptibly at her. Had I not been avidly watching, I would have missed it. "We'll be parted forever. He won't let me go."

Philippe called her name soothingly, "Christine."

A dim echo seemed to respond from the walls. Philippe did not seem to hear it though. Christine and I did.

She pulled her hands away from his as though she had been burned. She turned from him and took a few steps away. She gazed into the middle distance and sang, "What I once used to dream, I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end. And he'll always be there…"

I finished her song, "Singing songs in my head."

Her head whipped in my direction. I did not know what possessed me to sing that line. I did not know why I had even known the words. Christine sang it so often that I should not be surprised. Something compelled me to finish it anyway, "He'll always be there, singing songs in my head."

Philippe cleared his throat and broke the spell in which I had been. Christine snapped out of her surprise. He walked towards her ignoring me completely for the moment, "You said yourself he was nothing but a man."

He did not step closer than an arm's length away. Christine looked ready to bolt.

I too tried to reason with her, "Yet while he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead."

Christine looked between us and once again looked away. I had seen the answer in her eyes however. She had long since decided what she would do. I believed that she had decided since the main hall when she had looked to Philippe to lead the way. She was only disagreeing for… for whom? Was she playing innocent for the Phantom? This new fear she held for the Opera Ghost told me otherwise. She was acting for Philippe. She was being the uncertain damsel. Philippe would appreciate the effort. He loved being considered the hero. The news would greedily eat it up and his name would be glorified even more.

She sang once more. I wondered if she liked to hear her own voice, "Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life, to win the chance to live?"

Philippe closed the distance between them finally. He too had seen the decision in her eyes. He gently took her in his arms.

"Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice?"

I scoffed silently to myself. Christine was someone of whom to be wary. I could now see it. She had betrayed me by clinging onto Philippe. I held no qualms about that. I only felt a dim satisfaction in knowing that Philippe would betray her. He was not stupid as I had been.

"Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice? He kills without a thought; he murders all that's good. I know I can't refuse and yet, I wish I could."

She turned around in his loose embrace and finally looked him in the eyes. "Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom's opera?"

He replied, "Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care."

I had expected to hear the voice echo her name once more, but outwardly, I heard nothing. In my head, I could hear it clearly though.

Philippe looked uncertain what to say next. He knew Christine wanted to be consoled but perhaps I _did _know her better. I sang, "But every hope and every prayer rests on you now."

She looked at me briefly but took the words as though Philippe had sung them himself. I thought I saw Philippe grin at her but could not tell. His hand slipped behind her head and closed the distance between them.

They kissed deeply, almost lewdly. I could tell that Philippe was trying to make a point. He was clearly claiming Christine as his own. He did not need to do so. I was not going to entangle myself with her once again. I had learned my lesson the first time. I watched them in boredom. I diverted my eyes when I realized I should not actually be watching them kiss.

I looked down the empty hallway and wondered which wall the Opera Ghost hid behind. It could not simply be my imagination that I heard speak Christine's name. I was certain that she had heard it as well. I impatiently shifted from side to side. How long was Philippe going to keep me waiting? I was suddenly tired and wanted to go back to my bed to sleep. Being around these frivolous people exhausted me.

"Raoul," Philippe called me.

My name echoed in the hallway and I could not tell whether it had been in my mind or aloud. Philippe did not react, so I figured it had simply been in my mind. Turning around, I noticed that Christine had already left.

Philippe placed his hand on my back and lead me forward. We began walking back towards the entrance of the opera house.

"I want to talk to you," he started, "I'm very proud of the way you acted today. You've shown a lot of improvement since when I came."

I nodded, pleased that I had garnered his praise. There was something more though.

"You must remember though that the Opera Ghost cannot be reasoned with. No matter what, it's your duty as a Vicomte to kill him. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I nodded. I understood the first time he told me. He did not need to convince me. I told him as such and he smiled back at me.

"I know you don't need convincing. I will be dealing with much of the specifics in the meantime. I would like you to guard Christine."

I nodded even though I wondered why I had to watch her again. The Phantom had made me watch her, and now Philippe wanted me to watch her as well. I knew she was integral to our plan, but such attention should not be wasted on a ballet rat.

Philippe must have seen my hesitation for he responded, "It's the gentlemanly thing to do. You have been childhood friends. It's proper."

"I understand." I immediately responded. I would do so if Philippe asked. It did not matter what I thought. He had already said the words that convinced me though. If it were proper, then I would do so.

Philippe looked satisfied.

o.o.o

The weeks that led up to the premier of Don Juan Triumphant were once again filled with watching Christine.

However, Philippe did not seem to think that I could handle the job myself. He placed two personal guards to watch _me_. I never had a moment alone when I was in the opera house and even when I was _not_ in the opera house. Philippe must have been worried that the Opera Ghost would once again attempt to kidnap me.

I was secretly glad for the guards. I knew that I should have been outraged since Philippe did not trust me. I was a Vicomte and I knew how to fight. I should not need bodyguards. However, every now and then I would hear a voice calling out to me. It _had_ to be the Opera Ghost. No one else heard it though. The voice seemed to call to me and physically pull me away. Having the guards present helped me realize what I was doing. Luckily, I only heard the voices in the Opera Populaire. At home, there were only the voices in my head. I could hear remnants of his songs in my mind and it felt as though they were twisting their way through my thoughts. I did not lose focus though.

The Phantom was not playing fair, but I let it go. I could only assume he wanted to get to Philippe by going through me. I was still too weak. I needed to be stronger. I needed to be strong enough to confront him and win in a battle. I trained with Philippe when we were not at the opera house. He did not question my sudden desire to practice my sword skills. He actually looked pleased. He reminded me every night of what I was to do, and when he did, it was easier to forget the voice that haunted my mind.

As for Christine, she did not give me dirty looks anymore. She simply accepted my presence. Sometimes I would catch her looking at me rather wistfully, but then she would come to herself. She would shake her head and return to the rehearsals.

Don Juan Triumphant was different from any opera that I had ever heard. It was grating on the ears, but there was something more. There was an intricacy in it that I could not fully understand. I could not understand music as well, as deeply as the Opera Ghost had written it.

Unfortunately, I was unable to hear the opera in its entirety. Nearing the premier, Philippe ordered me to stay at home. I was not pleased with his decision to keep me away. I would think that the nearer the days got to the premier, the better it would be for me to watch Christine. However, I followed his orders and stayed at the estate with my two bodyguards.

I spent my days reading books and hunting. My mind would always wander back to the opera house however. I wondered how everything was going. The last time I had been there Piangi had been having problems with his lines. Carlotta had also been complaining. I wondered if they had resolved their problems. I thought more about the composer though. It seemed a waste to have to kill a musical genius. One could make much money off such a man. That business side of me hoped he would not do anything stupid. I doubted that he would be able to contain himself though.

Most of the time I spent in training. It was one of the benefits I found with having bodyguards. They were the perfect people with whom to practice my skills. I was becoming stronger, and as the days neared the premier, I found myself anticipating the moment when I would be able to not only see the opera in its entirety but also confront the man behind the mask.

I would finally be able to fight the Opera Ghost, and I knew that I would win. I would kill him if we crossed blades. His death was not only necessary. It was inevitable.

o.o.o.o

End ch19

Word count: 9,770

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)! Reviews are how they say… Chicken Soup for the fanfiction writer's soul.

Chapter Review: Stupid Raoul and his hero worship of Philippe. After Erik's chapter gave some hope, he had to go and ruin things by freaking being the Vicomte. Erik should have just knocked him out and kidnapped him.

Chapter's pretty short. It saddens me that I think that way now. I know it shouldn't but considering the fact that starting this fic, my goal had been 6,000 words, I think this sudden change of number might be bad. However, I can handle this shorter chapter since I know that chapter 21 and 22 are going to be soooo good. :o) I have so much planned. I can't wait.

**A/N**: you guys have convinced me. Bringing back the A/N, which is evil! I don't mind my sn so much, but it's just my name! It was not quite creative of me, was it? But at least it's advertisement, right?

Thanks to my reviewers!  
xdark.flowerx: I don't mind long pointless reviews of nothing… though long, I don't think your review falls under the category of pointless or nothing. Just like chapters in a story, long reviews are cool:o)  
Zee: Emotionally tormented characters are the best kind, right?  
Psychos-Anonymous: listening to the soundtrack on repeat is actually how I write the chapters. It sort of keeps me focused (and sort of distracts me sometimes as well. It can't be helped though. Who can stop themselves from breaking out into song?)  
PuppetofDreams: You know what's weird… I did not even think about the OOC factor. If he does stop being who he's been being then wouldn't that make him OOC? Good question. Let's see if I don't atrociously ruin his character (the one we all love so much).  
Tsurai no Shi: Thanks for your compliment. I always worry about the flow since it never sounds the way it's supposed to when the story makes its journey from my mind to the computer. My doubts are a little relieved.  
first-rain: I think it's a love-hate relationship with me torturing Raoul. We don't really want to see it happen, but when it does, Raoul's just too brilliant when he's full of angst.  
whatevergirl: hope you like this chapter… I am so mean to Raoul. I'm almost ashamed of myself… almost.  
Mithril Maiden: I was trying to be repetitive, but maybe I overdid it? I'll have to go re-read it again. I wanted Erik to have that sort of thought process where everything does keep coming back to the same facts, to the same thoughts because he thinks he has already accepted these facts but in a way, he's still in the process of trying to convince himself. Thanks for the feedback. I'll try to think of other ways to do so. thumbs up for bringing it up  
Mistoffelees FTW: there's 23 chapters, so technically this story will resolve itself in 5 chapters (crazy huh?) Bad part is that I've thought of another story that I really want to work on instead of this one.

Thank you all for your reviews again, and to those who don't review… Hope you like the story so far (I can't tell unless you drop a line).


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. One big karmic comeback.

Warning(s): Blood!

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: Well, Raoul's had a psychological breakdown. Poor Raoul's gone, who knows if it's permanent, but he's pretty much gone in this chapter, right? In his place is that new and improved Vicomte… improved? Who knows?

-Erik's karma gets even in this chapter. I think he's OOC because I don't really see him as being hesitant and he acts like a wuss in some parts of this. Call it a low point of his life. --

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 20

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

There were only chains, chains that I now saw. They were chains that I could not fully understand and was only now beginning to pull against.

There was no one left.

No one but Raoul. No one mattered but him.

Everything of my old life could be disposed. I would dispose the unnecessary weight. All I had to do was let go. Let go of my past conceptions and past prejudices. All I had to do to move forward was leave the past behind.

I let go.

I let the past die as I left the cemetery and headed toward the future.

o.o.o

That optimistic feeling that had kept my energy high and the pain to a minimum subsided somewhere around the time I realized I had about two more hours of walking before I reached the Opera Populaire. I had been walking for what felt like an eternity and now that the sun was out, it was harder to make progress. I had to worry about people noticing my presence and the fact that I did not have my cloak made it harder. I wondered why the sun had decided to shine so brightly when this morning had been so dismal. That was an evil trick to play on me since I had to walk home.

However, I could not bring myself to be completely angry at the day. It had been enlightening to say the least and now that I was set on what I wanted, I could somehow believe that everything would turn out well. I had no idea what drove that optimism since nothing had actually ever gone as I had planned it, but I was confident that this was meant to be. Things that were meant to be _had_ to come to pass. I reminded myself that fact whenever I had to once again rest for the sake of my throbbing wound.

The cemetery was not very close to the city proper; in fact, it was surrounded by happy little homes with oblivious families, farmland, and some scattered forest. In order to remain anonymous, I had to completely avoid those neighborhoods. It took that much more time and that much more distance to walk to keep my identity secret. It was hard when I did not have enough energy to tread lightly or breathe softly. I simply knew I had to keep walking and breathing. Intermittently, I would have spurts of wooziness from the loss of blood, but somehow I managed to take one more step forward and then another.

Once I was able to get into familiar territory, it was not so bad. There was that extra burst of energy that came with knowing that I was getting so close to a bed, bandages, and food. No matter how bright the sun was, the back streets of Paris were always dark. More importantly, they were filled with people who knew to turn their heads from suspicious people. They were people who knew how to stay alive and were intelligent enough to know a dangerous person when they saw one… unlike those imbeciles at the opera house. That was the fatigue and pain talking though. It relieved some of the tension of my body to make snide comments at others. The people at the opera house were easy targets. Perhaps it was a psychological thing. All I knew was that it made me forget about the pain for a moment.

Thoughts of Raoul were another source of comfort for me. It took little effort to conjure up an image of him. My wound still hurt. It still bled, but it was easily pushed down the list of my priorities when I was able to think about Raoul. There was little respite in it though. I would begin to worry about what had happened to him after a while. The what if's plagued my mind. It was no use thinking such thoughts, but I could not help it. The most glaringly obvious fact about Raoul was that he was currently _not_ with me. I could not ignore it.

I pushed every thought back as I checked my progress. I paused to rest a bit, as I watched unnoticed as carriages and people passed me. There was an anonymity to it all that was almost comforting. I did not stand out as I usually did. However, that was only because I was hiding. I picked the shirt off my body. My perspiration had soaked my shirt and it clung to me uncomfortably. I winced when I saw the front stained almost completely with blood. Just a little further. The opera house was just a little further. It became a mantra in my mind. Once there I could recuperate in peace and then hopefully Raoul would come and visit.

I did not reach the opera house until a little after noon. I slipped into the familiar passageways and the cool air caressed my skin. I breathed a sigh of relief and rested again the wall letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I pushed myself forward needing to reach my home. It felt further than it really was. By the time I dropped onto my bed, I was thoroughly exhausted and I could no longer ignore the pain. My eyes were drooping and the desire to sleep was overwhelming. However, I needed to tend to my wound. I needed to make certain that I did not bleed to death while I was sleeping. I had a reason to live. I would not want stupidity to be the cause of my death.

I slowly rolled to a sitting position and grabbed the bandages that had been nearby. Thankfully, I had gotten a lot of bandages for Raoul when he had been here. There was enough for me to clean the wound. To my chagrin, the gash was indeed deep. I stood up and searched for a needle and some thread before beginning the painful process of sewing myself back together. I was no stranger to doing this unfortunately and I completed the process fairly quickly after much hissing and gulps of alcohol.

I wrapped up the wound and dragged myself into a comfortable position on the bed. I had not been sleeping this past week. It was Raoul's fault. I had not wanted for one moment to lose sight of him. I had wanted to spend as much time staring at him as I could, and I had. I had hardly slept, but it had been well worth it. However, it would also explain why I felt so weak now. The moment I laid my head down, I was fast asleep.

_0.0.0_

_I looked in front of me and stared at the stone. It was the horse statue on the roof of my opera house. I leaned to the side to look beyond it and saw Raoul and Christine. What were they doing here? Why were they trying to escape from me? Did they not know that I was the owner of all who entered this building? I had just killed Buquet as a sign of my displeasure at their actions and here Raoul and Christine were holding hands on my rooftop._

_Christine was acting agitated and murmuring what Raoul had to think was utter nonsense. He looked uncertain, but gently taking her hands into his, he walked her over to the light and began to sing to her. "No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here …"_

_I'm here. I stepped out from behind the statue, but they took no notice of me. I could not move further out though. I knew somewhere in my mind that I should not because I did not want to be found. I opened my mouth to call to them instead. Once again, my mouth was not cooperating with me. I could not speak. I was stuck there, just watching them. Listening to his song…_

_However, I did not need to hear the words. I knew them by heart already. A song about love and devotion, and I knew it already. I knew every note as though I myself had written it solely to hear Raoul sing it. He had a remarkable voice. It seemed to resonate through me. That too was wrong. I was supposed to be angry with him. I was supposed to be angry with both of them._

_Both? _

_My eyes had unfocused when I had been lost in my thoughts. I looked over towards where Raoul and Christine were, but all I could see was Raoul's back. I could not see Christine at all._

_Raoul began to walk away. My body finally listened to me when I told it to move. I followed. I finally caught sight of Christine over Raoul's shoulder. I was certain that he was still singing. It seemed to echo in the background, but it was muffled. She was looking at me, more like past me, and it was like looking at someone I did not know. However, I did know her. It was as though up until that moment, I had been seeing my concept of her. I did not want Christine. That was no mystery to me. It was no sudden revelation. She had done so much to lose my affection or what I believed to be affection for her. It had been easier when I had never really seen her. Then she was suddenly gone, and I was left looking at Raoul's back._

_I reached out but he seemed to pull away from me without really moving. It felt as though I were being dragged away from him. He turned around and I finally stopped moving away. It was just him and me when he finally looked me in the eye. I took a step backwards in shock and suddenly I was falling backward._

_I flailed my arms and reached towards where I knew Raoul to be. I was falling_…

I screamed loudly and jerked into a sitting position. The moment I did, my abdomen protested and I dropped back onto the bed. My heart was beating loudly in my ears. My stomach had felt as though it were stuck in my throat. I was gasping for air and every time I breathed, my wound hurt more. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. I curled up grabbing my stomach. I did my best to steady my breathing. I tentatively probed my stitches hoping that I had not pulled them out when I had jerked awake. Luckily, I had not.

I had forgotten about that dream. It was unexpected to say the least. This dream had kept me awake for so long. It had caused me weeks of exhaustion when I could barely sleep for minutes at a time. My hands were still shaking. My heart still beat unsteadily. My lungs were beginning to hurt from the strain of trying to slow my breathing when all it wanted to do was take deep gulps of air. My stomach felt uneasy; it felt worse than uneasy and I feared that I would have to get out of bed in case anything did happen. I had forgotten about the dream, but I did not forget how this felt, the panic and fear.

Even now, I could not remember what had driven me to take that step back. What could have Raoul done to shock me? Perhaps I was asking the wrong question though. What had happened to Raoul? I did not want to let my mind wander through that possibility when I was here and he was stuck with his brother. The only thing that I clearly remembered was Christine as she looked through me. I could also remember his song, but I did not need the dream to remember it.

I rolled onto my stomach wincing when I leaned on my wound. I wanted to bury my face in my pillow though. I had slowed my breathing but the way my heart beat erratically made me worry. I sighed loudly. I would be having no sleep again for a while. What had made the dreams stop before?

Raoul.

I let out a string of curses still mad at myself for my acts of cowardice in sending Raoul away so many times. It hurt to yell though so I was forced to stop. Frustrated and restless, I slowly sat up and leaned against the headboard of the bed waiting for my heart to slow down.

I stared into the darkness of my home. Home. This opera house was my home, was it not? The organ, Box 5, the lake, the stage, the rooms, they were all mine. Even the singers and the managers, they _had been_ all mine. _Had been_. I did not want them any longer and I no longer laid any claim to them. I grinned at the thought that I was not the Opera Ghost. I was Erik and the only thing I laid claim on was Raoul. I did not care about the managers and their junk business, Giry and her ballet, Philippe and his arrogance, Christine and… and her rooftop confessions of love. Maybe I did care about that last one.

That rooftop seemed to be the place where pivotal moments occurred. I had sworn vengeance on the two when they both had proclaimed their love for one another. I had also experienced clarity on that rooftop. I knew that I would have to return eventually.

I felt as though I had once again achieved that clarity, but it was partly troubling. I had discarded my roles and decided to take Raoul. It was what I had wanted all along, wasn't it? I wanted to be myself. I wanted to be Erik. I had also wanted someone who would see me as I was and not some monster. I believed Raoul to be that person. But… and this was the troubling part, what if something destroyed it all before I could get it?

It was the dream's fault. I did not like it. I disliked it even more the second time around. I disliked it not only because it prevented me from sleeping or because my wound hurt more now than ever before or because my heart had still not slowed down or my hands stopped shaking. I hated it now for a new reason. This dream had been about Raoul. It had been about Raoul and it made me feel like this. Nothing about him had ever made me feel this way. I could not help but feel apprehensive. Was this a warning? Had that foreboding this morning yet to come to pass?

What if it were just building to a crescendo that would ruin me completely?

I sighed and tried to ignore those doubts and that nagging fear. I would not be dissuaded by anything. If fate had decided to play with my life once more, I would have to fight back. Things could not be too bad. It had not been the best of mornings, but I knew that it could get so much worse.

I slid over and stood up. Dressing myself in cleaner clothes and a cloak, I quickly grabbed a piece of bread that would serve as my lunch before heading upstairs. Though I had not seen any carriage or horse in the front, maybe Raoul had come here already. Walking the familiar paths, it was strange when every thing was so quiet. It seemed that everyone had taken the day off. I knew that the managers still had not decided whether to do the opera. I knew that they would of course eventually do it. They would for the sake of protecting their investment. I also knew Carlotta would make a fuss about her part since I had specifically made certain it was small. I grinned at the thought. It still caused me some satisfaction to cause disarray in their lives.

I passed by the main hall and saw no one there. Moving to the auditorium, I found that it too was empty. I figured the best bet was the dormitories. Christine's room, I found to be empty, which was not surprising. She would not want to be alone now that I had actually hurt her. I heard more than bothered to look at Carlotta yelling to who had to be Piangi and her entourage about the atrocity of my opera. When I finally checked the ballet dancer's room, I found Christine and Meg huddled together talking and laughing.

She looked so at ease, so young. I wondered how she could still pretend so much. I wondered how she did not lose herself to her roles. It no longer mattered. I knew that I once would have loved to see these people and their actions. There was the normalcy that I had so greatly desired. I had been envious of them and to ruin their lives, I would wreak havoc. I would find little things to scare and unnerve them. It had been one of my greater joys. Now I looked at them uninterestedly. I did not care what they did with their lives. I did not care as long as they did not affect mine. In fact, I no longer cared about my opera anymore.

I should care, and a part of me was still obsessed with it. However, Don Juan Triumphant was only filled with thoughts of her. I had created that masterpiece because of an unhealthy obsession that in the end only caused harm to myself. It was perhaps not how I wanted to continue to live my life. Don Juan Triumphant was not only the Opera Ghost's work though, if I thought about it. The culmination of the opera was Erik's. It had been inspired by Raoul and I would so dearly like to see it performed. I could see it in my mind and see Raoul's reaction to it. I was grinning but I could not seem to help myself.

What _was_ I going to do about Don Juan Triumphant? The final answer would be… Nothing. I hoped to be already gone with Raoul in tow before they even premiered it. Hopefully, wherever we ended up would be a place with an organ so that I could perform my opera for him. I of course would be Don Juan. Maybe I could even convince Raoul to sing the young maiden's part. I almost laughed aloud at the visual image I had.

Yes, I did not need to be here to see the opera performed. I could take Raoul before they even began rehearsals. That was of course assuming Raoul ever came back to the opera house. I was still worried about him. Philippe was dangerous, but what could I do?

I found myself standing by an exit of the opera house. I could go to the Chagny estate. I lifted my foot to take that first step but found that I could not. I _knew_ something held me to the opera house. I understood that fact. Understanding it and acting against it were completely different things though. It was a completely different issue of whether or not I could break those chains so quickly. I would wait for Raoul to come to me and then I knew with him by my side, I would be able to leave this cursed place.

It was not as if I had never left the opera house. I had left it just this morning. There was something different about this step though. I felt frozen. It was frustrating and I wanted to yell and shout and literally throw myself out. I knew why I could not leave just yet. The other times I had left the opera house, I had left knowing that I was going to come back. I would return. Leaving now, I knew that once I retrieved Raoul, I would never return to this place ever again. That was what made me pause. That was what had stopped me from leaving.

This was my domain. It had been the only place I had known for a long time now. I knew the familiar pathways and the comforting sound of water lapping on the shore. It was that comfort, that complacency that had made me weak.

I _could_ leave it all. I knew I could, but a part of me did not want to rush the inevitable. I knew that life in the opera house was easier than that of the outside world. When I kidnapped Raoul, it would force me to be ready to face it all, but until then, I found solace knowing that I could always return here. I found solace in knowing where my place in the Opera Populaire was. I was certain that my place in the world would be naught but a monster. I could fight against it all I wanted, but I felt as though I would eventually lose to all the assessments of others and become that monster once more. It would be much too easy to fall back into a role. That was why I felt as though I needed Raoul.

Did I _need_ him? I knew I wanted him, but to actually need him meant that I was admitting that weakness. I was actually trusting someone. Could I do that? I did already, didn't I? I trusted Raoul. I had believed him when he had promised to break up with Christine. I thought I had stopped trusting and depending on others a long time ago. When had this change occurred? And, did I want to stop it? If I gave Raoul too much power before I found if his affection for me was similar, he could break me. The only reason Christine had not done so even though she had betrayed me was because I had always known on some level that she would. Raoul was different though. I did not think he _could_ deceive me. I did not think that he would want to betray me.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when I heard a carriage pull up to the opera house. I was momentarily confused when I saw two blondes both with short hair riding in it. I frowned when I saw the Comte get out of the carriage. I had known that one of them had been the Comte. I did not know what I was feeling when Raoul turned his head and descended from the carriage as well. He cut his hair. I knew I was pouting but I could not help it. I had rather liked his long hair.

I forced myself to focus. This was my chance. He looked well enough – if I ignored the short hair aspect of him. I saw no stiffness in his movements that would make me believe that he had been further injured when they had left me at the cemetery. He even looked… the word was not 'better', but he looked untroubled. That air of sadness that had seemed to linger in his presence was gone. He had always looked to be pained in a way even when he had been with me. I had seen it with his smiles, which were filled with more sadness than joy. It appeared to be gone, but I was too far to really be certain.

Something had to have happened to him. Whatever it was, I knew that Raoul _would _bewith me… whether he wanted to or not. I would worry about the details later.

They entered the main hall and headed towards the managers' office. Watching closely, I followed them. The Comte turned to Raoul who looked at him guilelessly, "I will meet with the managers first. Get your business done and meet me back in the main hall."

He began walking away and I wondered what business Raoul needed to do if the Comte was going to meet with the managers. I hoped he was not going to visit Christine. I dearly hoped he had learned his lesson about her. It had been my mistake to tell him to watch her, but I had learned my lesson from that mistake. I wanted him nowhere near her ever again. Who knew what she would do now that she was with the Comte. I could not be too mad with him though if he did visit her. He was probably worried about her. He was always worried about her, I thought more bitterly than I would have liked. It was just frustrating.

The Comte stopped suddenly and turned back to Raoul, "You still have much to learn before you can even attempt it."

Attempt it? What was Raoul going to attempt to do? I looked at Raoul who appeared to be stunned. He knew what his brother was referring to however. I scowled when it was once again brought to my attention that his brother knew more about him than I did. The Comte had been gloating but I did not think that he had been exaggerating about this fact. He said he was going to change Raoul, and I was beginning to worry that he had succeeded. He had this smug expression in his face and he was being rather flippant with Raoul. I had only seen them interact once before, and there had been a suppressed rage about the Comte's actions when he dealt with Raoul. If the Comte's actions now meant anything, he was well pleased with himself.

The Comte briskly turned and strode away confidently.

Raoul suddenly had a look of determination. Looking down at something in his arms, he started to walk in the opposite direction. I watched Raoul and could not decide whether if he had really changed or if he was simply acting a different role. This person with the furrowed brows and a dissatisfied expression did not seem to be Raoul, but it did not seem to be the Vicomte either.

I was staring at him so intently that I did not realize where he was heading until he entered Box 5. I momentarily allowed myself to feel a little victorious. Raoul was going to visit me. However, why would the Comte know about it? More importantly, why would he let him go by himself? Unless, he was certain that Raoul would not do anything of which he would not approve.

He exited the box before I could even reveal myself and headed back towards the main hall.

I quickly scanned the area. No one else was around for which I was grateful. I stepped out into the middle of the hallway where I could be easily seen. This was it. "Raoul," I called.

"Who?" He turned around angrily. I did not know what to make of his reaction. He looked at me with an expression I could not properly read. However when he spoke, he called me by name, "Erik."

I grinned but hid the expression. Hearing him call me by name was still a novelty to me. It was nice to hear it aloud.

He seemed to be uncomfortable though. My name had not fallen from his lips as it had when I had first told him. It seemed awkward and foreign. He took it back, "Monsieur OG."

I blatantly frowned at his response. Something _was_ different with him. I mentally cursed the Comte. Anything that had changed with him would of course be the Comte's fault. It had to be.

I hoped that Raoul was only joking with me. I hoped that his stern expression would fade and he would at least attempt to give me a smile. He had always tried when in my presence. I had not appreciated it as much as I should have, but I wished he would just give me that sad smile once more. It would put me at ease.

He had always let his guard down so that I could read his eyes. Now, there was nothing in his eyes. There was nothing in his expression that I could properly read or understand. How could he have changed so much in half a day?

I stepped closer and he took a step back in response. He shied away from me. I felt my frown deepen. I caught his eyes and tried to see some semblance of the Raoul I knew in him. Still, there was nothing. He was not even acting the part of the Vicomte because I had always been able to see Raoul in him. He had not been able to hide his true self from me since I knew where to look. This time, there was nothing underneath this person. There was nothing underneath that gaze. I felt my heart skip a beat.

He narrowed his eyes at my gaze. I could read this expression easily. He was getting irritated.

I stopped staring at him so intensely. I could not help but search his eyes. How could there be nothing else there? I could not help but call out to him, "Raoul?"

His irritation only seemed to increase, "Please, Monsieur, do not call me as such."

Monsieur? He called me Monsieur, but it was not so much the formality but the way he had said it. He had not spoken to me with such arrogance before. I always associated arrogance with the Vicomte. Whenever Raoul spoke to me, it was light with some wit and some uncertainty. He spoke to me as though I were an equal. Never like this.

I could not bring myself to really accept it, but what else could I conclude? If this was not Raoul, then it had to be the Vicomte though my mind knew that it was neither.

I just could not allow myself to admit that the Comte had managed to do something to change Raoul so drastically. There was that unfounded optimism in me. If this was the Vicomte though, I would have to be wary.

My expression hardened and I took a step backwards. The Vicomte did not have a problem with fighting with me, and I would need the space to react if he did. "Vicomte."

He nodded his head and finally offered me a smile. It was definitely not what I had been expecting. It was disturbing. There was absolutely no happiness in it. There was no sadness either though. His smile reminded me of one of the stone angels in the cemetery. It was cold and seemed to be mocking me. Then I realized whose smile it really reminded me of, it was the Comte's.

This whole situation was unnerving. First, there was the haircut: although Raoul's hair had been cut differently, I could not forget Raoul's adamant protest against cutting his hair when he had spoken to Christine. I could not forget it because I had agreed with him to keep it long. Then, there was that emptiness in his eyes as though there was nothing beneath the surface. It was almost as if this were no mask. Now, there was the smile: the Comte had smiled similarly as he had tried to kill me in the cemetery. My stomach tightened at the thought of Raoul being anything like the Comte and I forced myself not to wince when my wound ached. I knew that smile was one that could be filled with malice and arrogance but nothing more.

I was angry with myself. I found myself wondering what had happened to him. Could this be any more reminiscent of the masquerade? Only this time, it was I with the stomach wound and bloody shirt. Still… still, it was Raoul that had something amiss. I could not let him out of my sight for a moment!

He spoke with that same arrogance, "I would very much appreciate it if you continue to address me properly."

Address him properly? After a while, I had only ever thought of him as Raoul, Vicomte role or not. However, I did not know how to act around him now and it only succeeded in making me more frustrated. I took a semi-calming breath and considered my options. I did not care who stood in front of me because no matter what role was currently out, Raoul had to be somewhere inside there. It would be harder with this new Vicomte, but that would not hinder me. I would kidnap him and then make him remember who he really was.

He held out a cloak to me. "I wanted to return this to you," he said.

So, he had only come to visit me because he wanted to return my cloak. The look in his eyes said that was the only business he had with me. Typical… I was disappointed at the realization. Our meetings were only ever about business. I guessed that when I saw him looking for me, I had been hoping he had searched for the sake of seeing me. I wondered when I started to delude myself. At least with Christine, she had played along with my delusions. She had gladly spurred on my delusions, but with Raoul, his innocence just destroyed each illusion painfully every time.

I looked at the cloak in disdain. Looking at him, he looked at me expectantly before glancing down at the cloak. I really could not understand what was happening. This was supposed to be my chance. I should just kidnap him, but I was still too thrown off by it all.

I could not help but ask, "What happened?"

Raoul frowned at my question. He looked annoyed once more. Apparently, I had not been the only person to ask him that question.

I almost moved towards him, but I knew that he would only step back. I would have to bring him closer by some other means. I would need to lower his guard first.

"You cut your hair," I said with distaste. Raoul once again frowned at hearing this statement.

Faster than he had time to react, I grabbed his arm and pulled him close to me. I tugged so harshly that he almost ran into me. I hardly would have minded, but he caught himself. He struggled rather in vain. Once he stopped struggling, I released his arm. This was good. I could feel his body heat. I could feel him breathing. It was nice to know that he was alive and well, maybe not 'well'. I could not help but make a comparison. Raoul would not have struggled against me. There had been that one time when I threw him out of my home, but he had been mad at me then. In the cemetery, Raoul had let me hold him without once protesting. I would have liked to think that he wanted me to hold him.

I was content with closing the distance, but it still felt as though we were miles apart. He had to look up to meet my eyes, and I was annoyed that I could not understand who stared back. Where was Raoul?

He glared at me but he did not back away. Everything about his posture said that he was not standing so close because he wanted to but because he was challenging me.

This close, I could not help but notice how handsome he did look. I had liked his hair very much, but short hair did make him look rather striking. I could not help but stare, and I wanted to reach out and touch him. He was so close. I wanted to hold him. At least with his hair short, I did not have to worry about his hair blocking his face. However, I remembered that time when Christine had told him to cut his hair. What if he had done this for her? "You cut your hair," I repeated.

He shrugged, "If I did?"

I wanted to ask him why, maybe yell at him to tell me what happened when he had gone home. I knew that was not the best way to go about it though. I would have to be careful since I did not know exactly how he would react now.

My fingers twitched. I really wanted to run my fingers through his hair. I knew what it felt like when it had been long. I could summon the image and the sensation of it. I wondered if it would still feel the same. I doubted it. Maybe… I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair.

He jerked away from me with an angry cry, "Monsieur!"

He was frowning at me, but I could not seem to care. I inwardly sighed. I had been right. It felt differently. Not bad, but I rather liked the feeling of running my fingers through it when his hair had been long. My hand was still suspended in air. I wanted to reach out to him and make him stop being so confusing.

I wanted him to not have changed so quickly. Admittedly, I had changed to. I knew, but his change was extreme. There was nothing left of Raoul in his actions. Nothing.

My mind rebelled at the thought again. There was no other explanation though. No, the Comte could not have succeeded. He could not have. I would not let that be the reality of the situation. Whatever he did, I could undo. I had to be able to undo it. Raoul and I… what could I say? We had shared a connection. We had something between us. It could not be my imagination that he had dropped his pretenses with me. It could not have been just another role he had been playing. No. I would not accept it.

I dropped my arm. I called out to him, hoping to see a glimpse of something, a flash, anything. "Raoul."

He looked at me suspiciously. He did not respond. I did nothing think that he knew what to say. It was not as though I had asked a question. I had simply called his name. If anything, from his previous reactions, he would tell me to stop calling him by his given name. Vicomte? I scoffed at the thought. I would not call him the Vicomte. I would not accept that he was anything but Raoul with me.

I called out again and I hated the fact that it sounded as though I were begging. I did not beg. I amended that thought. Maybe I would for Raoul, but I hated myself for begging anyway. How low had I stooped? How desperate was I?

That was an easy question to answer. I was really desperate to have Raoul with me. I had decided to change my whole life only because I had been certain that I would have someone with me. I would not have to be alone anymore. I would not have to live, in solitude, in darkness, in shame. I would be able to look someone in the eyes and not wonder if all they saw was a mask. I was absolutely sure that person was Raoul. I knew I loved him.

Then there was that doubt that had inevitably settled in my mind and perhaps my heart. What if he did not love me? What if he could not?

I was desperate. Desperate enough to kill, to move heaven and earth, and definitely desperate enough to beg.

He responded this time. "Monsieur, I told you to desist calling me so familiarly."

At least I had expected that. It did not lessen its sting though. He was still unreadable. He was still someone else but Raoul.

There was the conclusion I did not want to even consider. What if Raoul had only ever acted with me? What if this was who the real Raoul was underneath under all the roles I had seen him play? It would mean that the Vicomte, the fiancé of Christine, the patron, and Raoul were only roles, and I was now for the first time meeting the real man beneath all those masks. It would explain everything. It would explain why he was really not hiding anything from me. If anything, he was being the most forthright he had ever been with me.

I could have sworn though. I could not help but grasp at the strings as they unraveled.

I stood there wanting to shake this out of him. "What happened? Did Philippe do this?"

He looked at me in pure confusion. From there, he became appalled that I had asked him about his business. I wanted to scream in frustration. This person may not be the Vicomte that had first come to the opera house, but it was without a doubt a mixture of him and something I was reluctant to acknowledge that was the Comte.

No. This could not be happening. Maybe I was still dreaming. As though in response to that thought, my side began to hurt. I was becoming angry with this infernal state of confusion.

He replied, "The only thing to have happened was your grabbing me."

What was I supposed to do though? Had it been just Raoul who faced me, I would have simply taken him. I doubted he would have protested though that could be only my own arrogance. Even if he did protest, he would not have wanted to hurt me. Raoul seemed to dislike confrontation. Had it been the Vicomte who had faced me, I would have subdued him. He would have tried to fight back but even with all of the Vicomte's fervor, he seemed apathetic when left to his own devices. He only acted as he thought he should act. The Vicomte would act as any Vicomte would have, and it would have been easy to read what his actions would have been.

No, I had to have been taken by surprise by Raoul. If I had known that he would be a mixture of the Vicomte and the Comte, then I would have knocked him out while he still thought I had not been around. If he was truly like the Comte, he would not only distrust me, but fight dirty. I was not well enough to expect the unexpected in a fight.

There had to be another way. I was not going to give up. I had said so before, and when I made my mind up about something, it was permanently fixed. I would have Raoul.

Then it hit me. He had been affected by my voice in the cemetery. I was not completely certain, but it was a gamble I was willing to take. Maybe I could make him come with me without having to use force.

He spoke up a little uncomfortably, "I simply came here to return your cloak."

He looked fidgety. Maybe he knew what I was going to do. I would have to calm him somehow before he _did_ run away.

Some sort of pride kept him in place though; a Vicomte's pride of course. He continued, "To repay my debt to you, I'm offering you this one last chance to prove that you will do no more harm to this opera house or its occupants. If I even sense some indication that you are planning anything or have done anything, I will kill you."

I did not like what I heard. He had once warned me about hurting Christine, but he had never threatened to kill me. The worst part was that I believed that he would do it given the opportunity. He would kill me. Kill me. My mind faltered a bit at his warning. I reached out and grabbed the cloak looking at it just so that I could focus on something other than him. It was as though my mind were stuck in a loop that kept reiterating the fact that he would kill me. Just like the Comte had tried.

He would not. I did not know why I was positive, but he would not.

I looked up at him. I may not recognize who he was currently, but he could not have changed that much. He stood in his place proud that he had yet to run when everything about him: his nervous glances, the way he shifted on his feet, his uncomfortable posture, said to run.

I stepped towards him, hoping that his pride would force him to stay in place. Luckily, it did.

"What do you want?" He said. Though his voice did not waver, his breath had sped up.

I stared at him intently. I needed him to only see me. Although I could not see Raoul in those eyes, I knew that if I tried hard enough I would be able to bring him back. Raoul froze in place. His eyes widened and I could tell he wanted to look away. He could not though. I used everything I had within me to keep him in place. It was a type of hypnosis that I had learned in my time in the carnival.

Usually my voice was enough, but with this, I could hope to reach him so that he would not remember anything but me. I reached out to grab his right arm lightly. I did not want to snap him out of his trance. I was surprised that he was still struggling. I moved even closer to him. Raoul had to look up to keep our gaze, but he was compliant to do so.

I did not want Raoul like this. I never wanted to do this to him because I wanted him to come to me of his own volition. I could make an exception this time though. This was not Raoul. This was the Vicomte and a little persuasion on my part could not hurt. I could still call out to Raoul. I could still hope that he would hear me.

"Come with me," I half sang. I spoke with a deeper tone and almost whispered it to him. My voice was one of the best assets I had. If Raoul had loved Christine's voice, then he would love mine. I was calling out to him. I was calling that deeper part of him, that darkness in everyone that always answered my call. His eyes glazed a bit.

He did not respond, but I had not expected him to. I did not think he even heard what I said. I knew it was hard to listen to the words when I sang. It was not always about the words. It was the feeling behind them. I sang to Raoul with every desire I had of him and that feeling was strong.

"Come with me," I sang again. Raoul momentarily closed his eyes in pleasure and I had to control myself. My breath hitched. The look on his face was so, so… erotic. I took a moment to just look at him. The blood was rushing hotly in my body. It was suddenly really warm. He seemed to revel in the feel of my voice as it washed over him and I wanted to touch him everywhere my voice reached. I wanted to hold him, to kiss him. My heart beat rapidly at the thought and I felt myself drawing closer. His lips were so close. I stopped myself. I could not. I knew I would lose him if I did so. I had to contain myself.

Surprisingly, he was still rebelling against me. He responded, "Where? Why?"

I was impressed by his will. With Christine, it was not surprising that she had been able to ignore my call. It was not because that darkness no longer existed within her. It was because she knew that darkness intimately. She did not need to succumb to it since she could very well manipulate it. Raoul was innocent. Raoul _had been_ innocent. I had doubted if he ever had a single thought about harming another person in his life. He had easily succumbed to my call in the cemetery. Now though, he was struggling.

That constant worry I had felt for him since this morning increased a bit more. What could the Comte have possibly done?

Then, he amazed me further. He somehow managed to break the eye contact we had, but at least, he still could not move. I had to get to him. I had to break through whatever had happened since this morning. I wanted _my_ Raoul back.

"Raoul," I softly crooned.

He immediately looked me in the eyes. "Yes," the response was also immediate.

I did not understand what was keeping him from just giving in. Was he so unaffected by me? His mind seemed to be elsewhere. If he was trying to distract himself, I would have to bring him back to this moment. I gently began to stroke the arm I was holding. I would have liked it to be skin on skin contact, but it would have to do. Right now, touching him was enough. It had to be. My own selfish desires wanted more. If he kept making those faces, who knew what I would do to him?

I had to be smart about this. I suddenly began to believe that if I could take him away from the opera house and from his brother, then he would stop acting like he was. What else could I do but take him away? I was slowly beginning to panic though. Only sheer force of will kept the fear at bay. I had known this would not be easy. Actually, I had thought that taking Raoul away from this would have been extremely easy. He was being abused by his brother. Why wouldn't he want to leave? It was that assumption that had been my mistake though. Apparently, he wanted to stay.

"Let me take you away from all this."

I called to him. I tugged gently on his arm and I let myself believe that Raoul's body was moving out of its own volition. I let myself believe that this _was_ Raoul. It was easier to call out to him. It was easier to ignore the fact that Raoul had just promised to kill me if I did anything like this current act was.

"Come with me."

He nodded.

I could do this. He would be mine. I had to keep telling myself that. It was easier for me to act when I knew the goal. This was a worthwhile goal. I could do this.

"Away from this place…"

I began to walk towards Box 5. It was dangerous to stay in the hallway. Anyone would be able to see us. I could determine my next step when we were better hidden. He followed me.

Watching him however, I could not help but feel a pang of sadness. This had not gone the way I had expected. The blank look on his face was the last thing I really wanted to see. I was so tired of it all. I wanted to start a new life. A new life with Raoul away from all of this.

"… away from Paris…"

Paris was troublesome. The Opera Populaire was troublesome. Christine and Philippe, they were all troublesome. I was tired of roles, tired of having to try so hard just to fail so horribly. All of my previous efforts had been in vain. I had tried to secure my place in the opera house and I had for just a fleeting moment before M. LeFevre sold the opera house to managers who had made my life difficult. I had given Christine her voice hoping that she would understand that I was so much more than just a monster. I had given her time and spent so much effort in cultivating her. I now despised her. There was that part of me that asked how was this any different?

I did not know how this was different. I just knew that Raoul was different than anyone I had ever known. This whole situation was different.

Just follow me, I mentally ordered.

"… away from Philippe…"

When I saw him blink rapidly at the name, I wished I could take it back. He refused to look me in the eyes. He was frowning openly and looked to be having some inner conflict. We had been making progress, too.

"Raoul," I tried to call to him, but the effect was gone.

It was not Raoul. It was the Vicomte de Chagny.

He stepped away from me. I could not help but feel despair. This was not different, was it? This was just like everything else in my life. If I wanted something, I would have to take it.

Raoul looked a little betrayed when he realized what I had been doing. I could almost believe it _was_ Raoul. He pulled his arm away from me, but I quickly closed my fingers around it. He tried to forcefully yank it away from my grasp but only managed to wrench his shoulder painfully. I winced when, he cried out in pain. I almost let go of his arm in fear that I would harm him further. That voice inside me just reminded me that this was not different than anything else in my life. I would have to take it, forcefully if necessary. It was not as though his struggling had not been hurting me as well. I grabbed his arm tightly.

"Raoul." I said firmly as a warning. He could pull all he wanted, but I was not going to release him. What had made me think I could get him to come with me without force? Why had I ever thought he would want to come willingly?

He growled at me angrily, "Vicomte. Do not test me, Monsieur."

Do not test him? I scoffed at the words. He should not test me.

I began to drag him away without another word. He tried to dig his heels into the carpet but he was simply too light. What had he thought? I was stronger than he was. I was more determined than he was. I glanced at him and noticed him frowning. I would have no pity for him right now. I could worry about the wounds later on, but he had appeared to be just fine earlier. He whimpered and I almost lost my resolve. I grabbed his arm tighter and kept moving. I would drag him to my home, bound and gag him before deciding on which route we would take.

His brother would never be able to find him. I would make sure we were very far away before he even discovered that Raoul was missing. They would not know what had happened. Madame Giry might guess, but what proof was there? I had never been anything but a ghost to these people. And, if Raoul insisted on struggling, I would have to knock him out for a duration of the trip. I would somehow find a way to get him back to normal.

Normal. I hoped that this was not normal. I could not get rid of that lingering fear that the person he had been with me had just been another role.

These doubts distracted me enough so I did not notice when Raoul stopped struggling. I only realized he was up to something when his left fist connected almost right on my stitches. The pain shot through my body and my hands automatically released Raoul in order to grab my stomach. I doubled over in pain and sucked in a deep breath of air wanting to scream so loudly. I could not bring attention to myself though. I just could not.

Some part of my consciousness that was not focused solely on the pain that came in white-hot waves through my body noticed Raoul running away from me. I curled into myself on the floor. I needed to move. So much pain. Someone might find me. Raoul might go get help. I had to move, but I could not get my body to do anything but stay frozen as I tried to ride out the pain.

I was beginning to sweat from the pain and the effort it took not to scream in pain. I was panting as though I had just been running. Suddenly, I started to laugh between gasps.

It hurt so much.

I had to move though. I had to catch up to Raoul.

I continued to laugh. It was a hysterical sound, that laughter. How could I catch up to him? I could not even move from this position off the floor. He had hit me. He had hit me in the abdomen when that had been the most sensitive spot. I did not fail to notice the irony of the situation. It was funny in an excruciating pain sort of way.

I deserved this. I deserved all of it.

I may have wanted to leave the Opera Ghost behind. I may have left that role behind me, but his sins were still my own. I wondered how long this would go on. I wondered how long fate would deny me what I truly wanted.

I rolled over and winced. The stitches had come out. My wound was bleeding, but the bandages were adequate enough for now. Currently, I had to chase down a certain Vicomte. I stood up unsteadily and wondered how I could possibly stay on my feet. I leaned partly on the wall and made my way staggering through the empty hallways. Finding a passage entrance, I slipped in and took every shortcut I knew to reach the main hall.

I watched the main hall from a distance since I knew that I was anything but silent at this moment. I could not contain the hisses of pain when moving jarred my wound. The managers, Carlotta, and Christine were on the top of the stairway. Carlotta and Christine were arguing. I allowed myself some satisfaction in the fact that Christine was acting like Carlotta more and more. I scanned the area and found Raoul and the Comte at the bottom of the stairs talking to each other in hushed tones. I was about to move closer when I saw them finish their conversation. I wished I knew about what Raoul and the Comte had been talking.

I could already guess what the others had been yelling to each other about. They had to be arguing about my opera. Carlotta only ever talked about herself and the opera, and since she was there, then it was without a doubt about my opera. I had known the managers would eventually cave in.

Firmin, ever being business minded managed to get a word in between Christine and Carlotta's argument, "You have a duty!"

"I cannot sing it," Christine stepped away from them, "duty or not!"

She looked to Philippe then. Of course, she would. They had an alliance. They had this twisted relationship that was part lurid sexual acts and part mental games. Her eyes pleaded with him, but I could not determine for what reason. She was waiting for his lead. That much was obvious. There was something else in her look though. Had they planned this? Her eyes fell upon Raoul and she hesitated for a moment. She did a double take as though she had not realized that it had been him. At least, I knew that Christine had not been the one to cut his hair. She was rather surprised by it.

Philippe started up the stairs, and like a well-trained dog, Raoul trailed behind him. I leaned against the pillar I hid behind and furiously thought over what I should do. I did not like to see him like this. Raoul looked like he had recovered already from our encounter. It was as though he was not affected at all. If that were true, the Comte's hold over him was stronger than I had thought.

I could do nothing right now though. The Comte probably knew I had confronted Raoul. He would be prepared if I attacked now. I would have to get Raoul when he was away from him. Not wanting to leave Raoul just yet, I relaxed against the pillar and watched the scene unravel before me.

When they had reached the top of the stairs, Andre looked at Raoul in confusion, "Who…?"

Firmin cut him off, "Monsieur le Vicomte."

He nudged Andre. Andre looked flustered, "I almost did not recognize you. I think your haircut looks rather nice."

I rolled my eyes. He did not 'almost not recognize' him. He _had not_ recognized him.

He asked, "Why did you cut it?"

I wondered if Raoul would answer him. I wanted to know. However, I saw the same look of irritation cross his face as when I had been talking about his hair. He would not answer.

Christine commented in a voice that clearly said 'I told you so', "You look rather dashing."

Carlotta stopped her whining for a moment to nod her head in agreement.

They were all staring at him. Yet, he stood confidently and looked at them all indifferently. The arrogance was like a shield to their comments. He did not care what they thought, and he made that fact clearly known. That was not like Raoul at all. Even when he had been the Vicomte, he still had some consideration for others. He looked to Philippe.

"We have all been blind," he commented as though a realization had come upon him, "and yet the answer is staring us in the face."

Everyone's attention suddenly turned to him. The managers were aptly paying attention. All eyes were on him, and I could tell that he was thoroughly enjoying the attention. Raoul stayed partially behind him and waited to hear his plan. I could not bring myself to be impressed. So, the Comte thought he had a plan. He had to know I was listening in on it, but perhaps, that too was part of the plan.

"This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend…" He once again left them in anticipation.

"We're listening."

"Go on."

They were in the Comte's grasp now. He was playing with their emotions. I glared at him when I noticed that Raoul watched him in admiration. Admiration! I did not know how he could look at him with such an emotion. That was the man that had beat him. I squeezed my hand into a fist and banged it against the pillar. Raoul was watching him aptly.

"We shall play his game – perform his work – but remember we hold the ace," the Comte looked at Christine then. Understanding what he was planning, Christine began to walk away. The Comte followed her and the rest followed him. I trailed a distance away, just close enough to hear and see their expressions.

Raoul finished his thought, "For, if Miss Daae sings, he is certain to attend."

I did not like the approving glance the Comte spared for Raoul nor did I like the pride that Raoul evidently felt for said praise.

That plan might have worked… a few months ago. I no longer cared if Christine sang. I did not want to be here any longer. I just wanted to leave. I just needed a moment alone with Raoul again so that I could kidnap him. I would not make the same mistake twice. I just needed that second chance.

"We make certain the doors are barred," the Comte added.

The managers understood the plan now as well.

"We make certain our men are there…"

"We make certain they're armed."

Christine stopped walking suddenly and spun around at us, "Madness!"

They almost ran into her.

I scoffed at his plan. No amount of bars, men, or guns would ever be enough to stop me when I decided to obtain something. They should know that I knew this opera house better than anyone else. I knew entrances and exits that no one else knew existed. They were lucky and would be disappointed when nothing would happen at Don Juan Triumphant's premier. Madness indeed.

"I'm not so sure," Raoul commented. Christine looked at him as though he had betrayed her. I mentally laughed at that look. She knew betrayal and Raoul's comment was hardly it. I did not believe that Raoul actually thought the plan would work. Did he not know the only thing that would lead me anywhere nowadays was him?

I cursed. He may not have realized it, but I was certain the Comte knew. This plan, there was more to it. He did not know who I was truly after. For all appearances, it would be Christine I wanted. However, current events would have let the Comte come to the conclusion that I wanted Raoul. He did not know which one it was. However, if he allowed the opera to be performed, he increased his chances because firstly, it was my opera. Secondly, Christine would be singing and I had never missed her sing though he would not know that. Thirdly, if my hunch was correct, he would make certain that Raoul would be there that night. If I did not get to Raoul before then, I would be forced to go to the premier.

Easy solution, I would get Raoul before then.

Christine did not seem as upset as she was acting. One could easily tell that she was not wholly against the plan. She was only indulging herself in knowing that she had so much power over them. They _had _to convince her, and she knew it.

Raoul shrugged at her. I did have to admit. I liked this Vicomte's reactions to Christine. He was simply uninterested in her. She was merely another lower class peon. He replied, "Not if it works."

"This is madness!" She reiterated and began walking away again.

This time the Comte did not follow her. Instead, he turned around and faced the managers as well as Carlotta.

Andre asserted, "The tide will turn."

Carlotta reiterated her belief. She pointed in the direction where Christine had walked away, "She's the one behind this. Christine."

They all looked at her skeptically. It was obvious she was simply upset about not having a larger part. Could she be any more insipid?

"This is all her doing," she continued, "This is the truth."

I ignored her. In fact, everyone did their best to do so.

Firmin spoke over her, "This is his undoing. If you succeed you free us all."

Carlotta stood there indignant that no one was listening to her.

"If Christine helps us in this plan," Andre brought to their attention.

Indeed, the Comte would not have a plan that did not cover all the bases. He would want both Christine and Raoul present in order to ensure my own presence.

Raoul agreed, "If Christine won't, then no one can."

I mentally told Raoul that he could do it, and I grinned at the mental image again.

Carlotta looked at him with disdain.

The Comte cleared his throat to get their attention. When the managers looked at him, he ordered them, "Get everything prepared. Have all the performers ready, but also make certain that we save the date of the premier. Inform the police of our plan now so that they can be well prepared as well. We need many able bodied men."

They nodded.

"But what of Christine?" Firmin asked.

He confidently replied, "You let me worry about such things. Go and have everything prepared. We need this perfect."

I rolled my eyes. All his effort would go to waste. It took months to prepare for an opera even if you sped up the process. That would give me ample amount of time to find some opportune moment to kidnap Raoul.

The managers and Carlotta walked away and I was glad to see that Raoul was about to follow them; maybe my opportunity would arise sooner than expected.

Philippe called him however, "Raoul. You're coming with me."

He nodded and obediently followed him as he walked down the hallway Christine had walked down. Did he have to be so submissive to the man?

"Philippe," he kept stride with him. "We must tread lightly. We have seen him kill. He may do so again."

It was clear that it was not only Philippe and Christine I had to worry about. I had to worry about Raoul as well now. The thought did not sit very well with me, but nothing was sitting well with me today.

The Comte looked away. "I know this well, Raoul." He was silent for a while and I thought he was going to remain so until he commented, "What did you say to him?"

They were talking about me. What would Raoul respond? Surely, he would not reveal everything. However, I did not doubt that the Comte would see right through any lie Raoul tried to tell. He would have to tell him everything. I unfortunately knew that he wanted to tell him everything as well.

"I told him that to repay my debt, I would leave him be unless there was an indication that he meant to harm the opera house again," he replied. He suddenly looked uncertain as to whether he had done the right thing. Looking to Philippe, he was searching for some confirmation. When had he begun to need the Comte's validation for any of his actions?

The Comte mulled over his ultimatum, "As a Vicomte, it was honourable to want to repay your debt to him. However, as the patron, you should have killed him the moment you had a chance."

When Raoul nodded at his words as though they had been the most enlightening statement ever spoken to him, I did not know how long I would be able to watch them. I wanted to leave, but knew that I could not. I could not leave the Comte to his own devices. I especially could not leave Raoul alone either. Every time he was out of my sight, something changed.

"You must kill him," the Comte reinforced, and I did not know how anything worse could happen, "He is a very dangerous man who only wants to exploit you to get to Christine. You must kill him. It is your duty."

Raoul nodded once more. It was settled apparently. If the Comte had said to do so, Raoul would certainly now do it given the opportunity. He had given me the ultimatum before but he had at least not done anything when I had tried to kidnap him. I knew he would not allow me to attempt it again. If I tried and failed to kidnap Raoul, I knew that it would be the last attempt I would ever make. I could not even show myself to him without now having to worry about him killing me.

Christine was a short distance away. She had stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. They paused before she had noticed them, "Help me comfort her." The Comte smiled at Raoul rather evilly. He was scheming once more. I did not know if Raoul knew how much the Comte was the predator and he was the prey. I dreaded to see what the Comte would do. "You know her better." He added and the look was gone.

They walked up to her, and she looked up at them with tears in her eyes.

She smiled weakly at Raoul, "You do look rather handsome with your hair cut, Raoul."

She reached out to touch his hair and I was glad to see him duck under her hand. She had no right to touch him.

He disregarded her statement and told her. "You know why we've come here. Do you not?"

She looked at him distastefully and decided that he was not worth the attention. She knew that he could do nothing for her. Instead, she turned her attention fully on the Comte. Raoul shrugged and moved to the side to watch. It seemed that was as much help as he was going to give. I wondered if I could separate them. I was in both Christine's and Raoul's minds already. It should not be too difficult to reach either of them. I doubted Christine would give away my presence. I was not so certain with Raoul. I would have to proceed with caution.

"Philippe," she moved closer to him, "I'm frightened. Don't make me do this."

Philippe's expression softened but he did not respond.

"Philippe," she tried again, "it scares me. Don't put me through this ordeal by fire."

He held her hands gently in his. I was furious. How could he do that in front of his brother? Raoul should be mad that the very thing that I was certain he had been forbidden to do by the Comte, the Comte so freely did. Though I was technically angry enough for the both of us. He wanted to flaunt their relationship in front of his brother. There was no other explanation. Why though? I had thought that seeing them together would have broken Raoul before, but now he did not seem to care at all. He had already been broken. It was a test. The Comte was testing Raoul. He had even allowed Raoul to meet with me to see what would occur. He had known that Raoul had changed already. I realized what the Comte was planning and I dearly did not want to see the two kiss again.

Christine looked around paranoid. Whispering soft enough that I had to strain my ears to hear, she spoke to Philippe, "He does not want me."

I smiled at her statement. The way she said it almost made up for all the trouble she had caused me. Almost.

Glancing at Raoul, I noticed that he looked as though he doubted it. Honestly speaking, it still appeared as though I wanted her. I _had_ cast her in the lead role in an opera that I had written specifically for her. I _had_ stolen their engagement ring saying, '_Your chains are still mine. You belong to me._' However, I had given my attention to Raoul almost completely after the masquerade. Christine was in my past and I did not want Raoul thinking she meant anything to me.

Raoul caught the Comte's eyes and shrugged.

He nodded shallowly. He considered her statement for a moment and seemed to agree with Raoul, "Perhaps he does not, but I do believe he will appear."

Christine did not look like she appreciated being bait. She pleaded still, "He'll take me, I know." Apparently, she also thought that I would take her if the opportunity presented itself. As though I would bother myself with her. The way she said it though, I did not believe she thought that I would take her alive. Now there was an option I had not even considered. I wondered how she would react to the fact that she had given me an idea to harm her. She was completely convinced that I would, and I had to admit, she was overreacting a bit much. I had only thrown her around a little in the cemetery. I wondered how deeply her betrayal actually ran if she was this frightened. She quickly glanced at Raoul suddenly uncertain if she should go on. I saw Philippe squeeze her hands and nod his head almost imperceptibly at her. "We'll be parted forever. He won't let me go."

They really were going to do this in front of Raoul and in front of me. The man was challenging me. Not only was this a test for Raoul, it was a test for me as well. He wanted to see how far he could push us.

The Comte called her name soothingly, "Christine."

I called out to her as well. The familiar echo bounced through the passageway and through the walls. The Comte did not hear it. I had not thought he would. Christine and Raoul though obviously did. Raoul's back suddenly stiffened and he looked around nervously.

Christine pulled her hands away from the Comte's as though she had been burned. She turned from him and took a few steps away. She gazed into the middle distance and began to sing. She was trying to appease me with her voice, "What I once used to dream, I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end. And he'll always be there…"

I was surprised when Raoul finished her song, "Singing songs in my head."

Her head whipped in my direction, and I could not help but stare at him in confusion. He had sung that line. I wanted to know what had possessed him to sing that line. I held my breath in anticipation waiting for something more. I did not know what, but I felt as though if he sang more, it was a sign. Something compelled him to finish the song, "He'll always be there, singing songs in my head."

I let go of the breath I had been holding. Relief welled inside me. Relief and hope. Raoul had been affected by me. He was not just that obedient lap dog to the Comte because I had managed to reach something in him that I was certain that the Comte could not even reach. I did not think anyone but I could reach it.

The Comte cleared his throat and broke the spell in which he had been. Christine also snapped out of her surprise. He walked towards her ignoring Raoul completely for the moment, "You said yourself he was nothing but a man."

He did not step closer than an arm's length away. Christine looked ready to bolt.

Raoul too tried to reason with her, "Yet while he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead."

He was half-right in that statement. I would haunt _him_ until he was dead.

Christine looked between them and once again looked away. I had seen the answer in her eyes however. She had long since decided what she would do. I believed that she had decided since the main hall when she had looked to the Comte to lead the way. She was only disagreeing for… for whom? Was she playing innocent for me? This new fear she held for me told me otherwise. She was acting for the Comte. She was being the uncertain damsel. I was certain the Comte would appreciate the effort. He seemed narcissistic enough to love being considered the hero. Once the news got wind of these proceedings, they would greedily eat it up and his name would be glorified even more.

She sang once more. I wondered not for the first time in my life if she liked to hear her own voice, "Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life, to win the chance to live?"

The Comte closed the distance between them finally. He too had seen the decision in her eyes. He gently took her in his arms.

"Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice?"

I scoffed silently to myself. Christine had already betrayed me. She had betrayed me by clinging onto Raoul. Then she betrayed both Raoul and me by clinging onto his brother. I was angrier for Raoul's sake than my own. I had known her character and still I let her blind me with her beauty. I felt great satisfaction in knowing that the Comte would betray her in turn. He was not a stupid man. I wondered if they would both become caught in each other's web of lies though. The games they played were deadly. Still, the real worry I held was for Raoul. Would he still be nothing but an innocent pawn in it all?

"Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice? He kills without a thought; he murders all that's good. I know I can't refuse and yet, I wish I could."

Once again, Christine showed her true opinion of me. She would never say those things to me, but she so easily did so when she was certain others would show her pity. Admittedly, she had always been like that. It was the tragedy of it all.

She turned around in his loose embrace and finally looked him in the eyes. "Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom's opera?"

He replied, "Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care."

Raoul looked a bit shaken still. I wondered what was bothering him. I knew it was not the affection that the Comte and Christine were showing each other.

The Comte looked uncertain what to say next. He knew Christine wanted to be consoled but Raoul _did _know her better. He snapped out of his stupor and sang, "But every hope and every prayer rests on you now."

She looked at him briefly but took the words as though the Comte had sung them himself. I saw the Comte grin at her with that customary challenge in his eyes. His hand slipped behind her head and closed the distance between them.

They kissed deeply, almost lewdly. I could tell that Philippe was trying to make a point. He was clearly claiming Christine as his own. He was clearly challenging me. He need not put on such a production of it all. He already had the one thing I wanted, and that man was watching them in boredom. I was torn between being glad he was unaffected or angry that he was not. I could imagine Raoul being outraged at seeing them kiss. Perhaps that was only the concept of Raoul I had in my mind.

Raoul diverted his eyes after a while. He looked down the empty hallway and stared at the walls. It was almost as though he were trying to look through them. I smiled when I realized he _was_ trying to look through the walls. I enjoyed the feeling of knowing he was thinking about me. I did not know whether he was plotting a way to kill me or just wondering where I was. In the end, it did not matter because I now had proof that I had really gotten to him. I could do so again.

Raoul was impatiently shifting from side to side. The Comte and Christine had stopped kissing and they were whispering to each other. I could not hear their words, but I could see that Christine was surprised. She however looked pleased about the outcome of the kiss.

"Raoul," The Comte called.

I called him as well. It echoed in the hallway and Raoul looked perplexed. He had heard me. Seeing that the Comte did not react, Raoul visibly relaxed. He turned around to face him.

The Comte placed his hand on his back and led him forward. I snarled at him. He was not allowed to touch him. No one was. They began walking back towards the entrance of the opera house.

"I want to talk to you," the Comte started, "I'm very proud of the way you acted today. You've shown a lot of improvement since when I came."

Raoul nodded, pleased that he had garnered his praise. Just when I was beginning to feel better about this situation… I tensed and was forced to lean against the wall. Maybe these bandages were not enough. There was something more the Comte wanted to say though.

"You must remember though that the Opera Ghost cannot be reasoned with. No matter what, it's your duty as a Vicomte to kill him. Do you understand?"

"Yes," He nodded. It was as though he was brainwashing him.

When Raoul told him he did not need convincing, I felt as though any progress I could have been making had been eradicating. The Comte had the nerve to smile smugly back at him.

"I know you don't need convincing. I will be dealing with much of the specifics in the meantime. I would like you to guard Christine."

Why was fate so cruel? Raoul was going to watch Christine? There was a good side to this idea. It meant that Raoul and the Comte would be separated, but nothing good ever came from watching Christine. Trouble seemed to follow her or was it that she was the cause of all the trouble?

He nodded, but I was glad that he looked loathed to do so.

The Comte must have also seen his hesitation for he continued, "It's the gentlemanly thing to do. You have been childhood friends. It's proper."

"I understand." He immediately responded. The Comte's satisfied look was the last thing I saw as they exited the opera house. I slid to the ground. There would be some moment before the premier that I would kidnap Raoul.

There was still hope. I slowly made my way back down to my home the emotions within me warring.

I had failed Raoul. I had promised myself that I would protect him, and I had not. The worst may have indeed happened to him, and I had been nowhere near.

I walked slowly through my home looking at everything. There were signs of my obsession with Christine everywhere. Paintings of her, the mannequin, poems, songs, all about her. In a wave of fury, I grabbed everything that reminded me of her and threw it on the swan bed. I ripped the veil, dismembered the mannequin. I took the oil paintings, threw them against the wall behind the swan bed, and with joy saw it splinter into pieces.

Even though my wound was still bleeding freely and now furiously, I dragged the swan bed onto the lakeshore. Grabbing the nearest candle and with a yell that I was certain reached the heavens, I threw it onto the bed and watched it burst into flames.

All my energy seemed to drain from my body in that heat. My legs gave way under me and dropped onto the floor gracelessly. The blood had soaked through my bandages as well as through my shirt.

I had to stitch myself up soon, but I stared into the fire instead.

o.o.o

The premier of Don Juan Triumphant was fast approaching.

I got more frustrated as each day passed.

Raoul _had_ been in the opera house for the first few weeks. He had been here everyday watching Christine. It should have been the perfect opportunity to kidnap him. However, the Comte had two personal guards watching _him_. He never had a moment alone when he was in the opera house. Either the Comte knew what I had been planning or he was just well prepared.

Even with the guards, I had tried. I had tried to lure him away and it seemed a few times that it had been working. However, he was so far. Why did he seem so far?

I watched him from a distance. Christine had stopped giving him dirty looks. She simply accepted his presence. Sometimes I would catch her looking at him rather wistfully, and I wondered if she could possibly feel badly for having used him. However, that look was not one of remorse. She was only looking at because he had changed. He had changed into someone she would have enjoyed manipulating. Those moments would pass and she would come to herself. She would shake her head and return to the rehearsals. She had the Comte now.

At least I knew she would leave him alone.

It was disheartening this process of trying to lure him away and failing day after day after day. He was in my opera house. He was so close. Raoul was out of my reach though. Mentally, and then after a few weeks physically. One day he simply stopped showing.

The Comte was forcing me to show at Don Juan Triumphant. He wanted me to do something. It was as though he were daring me to. If things came to that, I would not disappoint.

I would find a way to get Raoul. If I had to play the Comte's game, if I had to kidnap Christine, if I had fight Raoul, I would do it all to get him. He belonged with me. It was inevitable.

o.o.o

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End ch20

word count: 14,637

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: story on hiatus until I can get my head straight. It was so hard writing this chapter and I think you can tell. There are just three more chapters and I really want them to be good ones, but I'm a bit frazzled now. Maybe not so much a hiatus as give me two weeks and hopefully things'll be better then.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Changes!

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: I decided that the Don Juan Triumphant portion of the movie sucked (since he basically walked onto the stage with a mask, at least in the stage version he was wearing a hooded cloak as a disguise… could no one tell that that was not Piangi… 'hmmm, wasn't Don Juan fat just a moment ago? Oh well, he sings well so it should be okay.' Really though. The whole hooded cloak was a better way to go about it. I don't know why they had to change that portion). Anyway, so that portion will be there.

Oh and I don't like the whole, let's stand on the wooden bridge we made because as figurative as that part was, I can't believe they made an actual bridge. Did no one else find it random that there was a random bridge there? Maybe it was something else, but it was just really random to me. So that part's totally out.

Basically, they're on stage – Erik in his hooded cloak, Christine in her slutty dress – singing to each other (not on some wooden prop).

Also, I no longer like using lyrics in fanfiction, but I figured I had to for this part.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 21

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

Most of the time I spent in training. It was one of the benefits I found with having bodyguards. They were the perfect people with whom to practice my skills. I was becoming stronger, and as the days neared the premier, I found myself anticipating the moment when I would be able to not only see the opera in its entirety but also confront the man behind the mask.

I would finally be able to fight the Opera Ghost, and I knew that I would win. I would kill him if we crossed blades. His death was not only necessary. It was inevitable.

o.o.o

Tonight was the night.

After all the rehearsals that the Opera Populaire had been having, the preparations that had been made in conjunction with the law enforcement, and my seemingly long house confinement, everything was going to come to fruition.

We had just eaten dinner and Philippe and I were now preparing to leave for the theatre. The bodyguards had gone ahead of us to make sure everything was prepared at the order of Philippe. I was leaving to dress while Philippe, who had dressed before dinner, was talking to mother.

Before leaving, I momentarily glanced in their direction enviously. I was no closer to either Philippe or my mother since I changed. I thought perhaps that things would be different with them. Wasn't that what change meant? Weren't things supposed to be better? They were not better. Well, perhaps not supposed to be better, but at least different. At least, I could say that my situation was not worse. _I_ was different, but _they_ had not changed. I was becoming stronger. I was changing while they had not even seen a need to treat me any differently. However, the difference now was that I did not care as much. It was a fact that Philippe and my mother would be close. It was a fact that I would always be an outsider compared to them. It had been weak of me to dwell on that in the past, but still, I could not help but be slightly bothered to be treated the same as before.

I walked up the stairs to my room lost in thought. I stopped in front of the mirror and looked at myself. I had to admit that it was like looking at someone else. Couldn't they see that I was a different person and therefore should not be treated as before? It was not just a physical change either. It was not because the wounds had finally healed. It was not the short hair. It was not the firmer muscles or the slight tan. I looked myself in the eyes and there was a confidence that had never been there before. I was comfortable with who I was, and I could not recall a moment before in my life that I could say that. Things had indeed changed. _I_ had changed. It was enough. It had to be enough.

I began to dress with haste. There was no time for me to simply stare at myself. After all, I had been waiting for this night. I would finally be able to leave this estate. Philippe had told me to stay, so I had. I did not know what he was planning exactly but it must have been important for me to stay out of sight. Perhaps he understood that I had been too weak to properly kill the Opera Ghost as he had told me to. Now though, he seemed rather pleased with my effort to become stronger.

What pleased _me_ more was that I could tell that Philippe could read my intentions less and less. I was able to hide more thoughts from him as each day had passed. Or he thought that I had no thoughts whatsoever, but I knew he saw my new ability to hide my thoughts and emotions. This meant progress. I could not help but smirk. I could tell he was torn between being pleased and being disturbed by this new development. Furthermore, I could now almost read him all the time. I could see his irritation when he thought I was keeping something from him. I was beginning to be able to surprise him not only when we sparred but also with my actions. I considered it a good sign that I would one day become the perfect Vicomte and maybe take over his title as well.

During these past few weeks, I had begun to understand how weak I truly had been, how pathetic my life had been. I had been worthless. Philippe had been correct to bring it to my attention. I had been weak and knew that with my title, with my family, and the prestige of our name I could be so much more. I was working to that potential. And now that I was beginning to be able to deceive Philippe, it became quite clear that I would have more power. I would have more authority.

Those thoughts had not consumed me, but it could not help but linger in my mind. Philippe _had_ taken over my job as patron. I could not help but feel a bit displeased with him. However, I still desired to be like him because I could see that his temperament and principles were ideal for success in this life, for our life, but the novelty of having him around constantly had faded. He knew best _for now_. It was after all his plan that was going to take place tonight. I played but an insignificant shadow.

I pushed aside those thoughts so that I could focus on the current task at hand.

I strapped a sword to my side and continued downstairs. Philippe was waiting for me outside by the carriage. I walked out in time to see him hide a pistol in his coat. It was surprising. I had not even known that he had a pistol. They were expensive and I had heard many stories about how inaccurate the smaller handheld ones were. He also had his sword strapped on. I wondered why he wanted both. It would be easier to kill the ghost with the gun. If Philippe thought it best to have both though, then he must really think that the phantom would appear tonight.

Something told me that he would, but the Phantom… _Erik_… surely must know that it was a trap. You could hide nothing from a ghost, as least not the Opera Ghost. I had no delusions of the sort that you could. Considering the fact that by now the theatre should be filled with officers, there would be no possible way he did not know what was to occur unless the Opera Ghost had locked himself completely apart from everyone else.

It probably did not matter if there were ten or ten thousand guards waiting for him though. For Christine, he could appear. It was fact. There were rules to the opera house. Firstly was that the Opera Ghost obtained what he desired. Secondly, the Opera Ghost was everywhere always. Thirdly, the Opera Ghost always appeared when Christine was singing. Fourthly, the Opera Ghost killed whoever bothered to get in his way.

So, in order to stop the first rule, we would lure him out with the third rule knowing he would know Christine was singing by the second rule and I would have to inject myself into the whole plot by the fourth rule. Maybe then, I would be able to stop the man. I had already given him the ultimatum. It was up to him whether or not he would stay away. This confrontation seemed to be inevitable though. They were rules for a reason.

Philippe looked up at me and smiled rather grimly. "Are you ready for this, Raoul?"

I looked at him haughtily, "I have been ready for a while now."

He looked at me appraisingly before nodding. He entered the carriage and I followed after him.

We were silent for most of the ride to the opera. Though Philippe tried to appear calm and by all outward appearances seemed as such, I could tell that he was brimming with excitement. This was all a sport to him. Philippe did not consider many people worthy enough to warrant his attention. He thought of them as mere insects, bothersome creatures whose lives could easily be extinguished. No one had ever provided a challenge. His encounter with the Phantom had been a unique event. It was the Phantom's… _Erik's_… bad luck to have crossed paths with him. I knew Philippe would do everything in his power to kill the Phantom. It was my good luck since the Opera Populaire would now no longer be bothered by him.

I myself could not completely see tonight as a sport, but I could not stifle the eagerness that welled up within me from time to time. It was an adventure. We were going to try to kill and capture a ghost. How could I not be excited? It was true that I knew he was no ghost. It was true that even now my Vicomte's honour told me that since he had yet to do anything awful or detrimental as before, I should not kill him for things he had done in the past. I could not help but feel that he too had changed over the past few months. I did not know where the feeling came from considering I had not seen him since our last encounter, but some part of me seemed certain a Vicomte should not kill someone who had stopped his evil ways. That part of me was often stifled by Philippe's words. It was important for me to protect my investment, to protect the people within it – especially the women, and to uphold my duty as a Vicomte. How could my duty as a Vicomte tell me to do two opposing actions?

I would kill him if he showed tonight though. I should not be so excited about taking another's life, but as a Vicomte who had given an ultimatum, I had to kill him. I would be able to show my strength and erase all those times he had overpowered me. I would show him I was not as weak as before. I could stand on my own two feet. That was cause for eagerness.

I was also excited to see the opera. Don Juan Triumphant had been the topic almost foremost on my mind these past few weeks. I did not know why, but it felt as though anything that would happen… no, not just anything, but everything that would happen would occur at the Opera Populaire in this opera. It was the Phantom's… _Erik's_… opera after all. I knew it would be an experience not only because of what would occur but also because of the opera itself. I could not deny his brilliance.

There was something more than excitement though. I could not quite place the feeling within me. It had been as though something had been gradually building up in me since the day I had last seen him. It had been building and growing within me, and no amount of sword practice or physical exertion had helped relieve it. I wanted to call it restlessness but there was something more unsettling about this feeling. It was as though some part of me was missing and the ache that diffused from within made me physically and mentally pause by its intensity. I did not know what I could possibly be missing. Everything was perfect. Perhaps not perfect, but everything was falling into place.

Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe it was not a void. Maybe that feeling was as though something was forcing its way through my veins trying to come out. I was so confused. How could I feel so empty and replete at the same time? How could the two even begin to feel the same?

The feeling had happened to me more times than I could count lately. Moreover, the feeling that something was amiss, that something was just plain wrong never left either. Not a foreboding feeling, but that something was amiss with _me_. Whenever I did anything, there was some skepticism with the action. I found it rather ironic that I felt so confident but could not quash the nagging feeling that I would never act as such. The doubt was feeble enough that it did not stop me from acting or feeling confident but it managed to linger long enough to make me wonder. Neither Philippe nor my mother had commented about my behaviour so I knew that it had to be simply my imagination. There could be nothing amiss.

Those feelings of restlessness and uncertainty were not proper for a Vicomte to have. It showed such low breeding to not be in control of one's emotions or thoughts. I was close to being able to suppress such unnecessary emotions but these were simply overwhelming.

In the end, I could speculate the reason I had been out of sorts. It was all due to the thing, the person that had taken up the forefront of my mind, the Phantom of the Opera. There had been an assortment of thoughts, a rather considerable assortment. They had been thoughts that ranged from murdering him to the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes, the last moment I saw him.

I was obsessed with the man and Philippe actually encouraged it. I did not tell him about the other thoughts. I did not tell him how his eyes seemed to haunt me, how the familiarity with which he spoke to me bothered me, and how I could almost now swear he had been smiling at me. No, not at me. He had been smiling at someone else. He had been looking at someone else. There had been that moment when he had realized it and his expression completely changed. I had been too annoyed at him to really take note of it before, but I knew my feelings of uncertainty and his reaction to me were related. I could not tell Philippe any of this, and I was glad that I had been able to hide my thoughts from him.

I blamed these thoughts on the memories of the time I spent in his home underneath the opera house after the masquerade or even before then. I did not understand why I felt those… _things_ towards him, but I knew that I had. It was as though I were watching myself from afar. Those memories were not my own, they were of someone else. Those feelings were not my own, they were that person's. I knew they could not be my own because at this moment, this very moment in the carriage with Philippe, I did not feel anything special towards the Phantom. Feelings like that do not simply fade.

With Christine, I had at least come to my senses both before I had changed and after the fact. The reasoning may have differed, but it did not change the outcome. I did not want her. I now scoffed at ever thinking of her in such a way. However, it was different with the Phantom… _Erik_. I should have learned my lesson with Christine, but he was the complete opposite of her.

All I felt towards the Phantom…_ Erik_… I shook my head in frustration. That was it. I could not stand it anymore. That, his name in my head, had been happening a lot lately. I ignored the voice in my head that supplied that name every time I thought about… _him_. I usually tried to ignore it and just continue with what I was thinking, but it was so damn frustrating. It was only a name. I clenched my jaw. If only it were just a name, but it was not as though my mind just supplied it. It was _my_ voice, mine, calling out to him. Every time… calling out to him in desperation. It was a desperation I did not remember ever feeling. I was resolute to never let that name pass through my lips. I feared what would happen.

It all came down to the fact that he was dangerous. He had some control over me. He had clouded my mind with his singing and those thoughts were remnants of our last meeting. I would kill him, and any other emotion or thought pertaining to him would simply be nonexistent.

I had often wondered if my life before now had all been some sort of dream. It would be a terrible dream, but at least then, it would make some sense.

"When we get there," Philippe started without preamble. His words provided a much needed distraction from my own thoughts. They were entirely too confusing and therefore too dangerous for my own good, "we will first visit Christine to check how well she's doing. I will remain in the wing of the stage to be close at hand, and you will go sit in the Phantom's box."

I nodded my head though I thought it to be unfair that he would be closer to the Phantom… _Erik_… when he did appear. This was my fight, not his. I decided against voicing my opinion though. I would have my chance. I knew I would.

"There will be guards there with you. If and when you see him, signal me first before doing anything. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand quite well," I replied. We would need the cooperation of everyone to be able to catch him, so it was not the time to be selfish, "We've been through this already many times. I am well prepared." And I was. I was ready for this; I had to be.

Philippe looked at me in the way he had been doing so much lately. He was trying to gauge how far I had come. He nodded absently before turning to look at the scenery.

We arrived at the opera house to a group of soldiers and the managers anxiously waiting at the front doors.

When I stepped out of the carriage, the managers said quick greetings, but casually pushed me aside. I frowned at their insolence. Who did they think they were dealing with? I would show them all how strong I truly was. They would realize who the real patron of this opera house was. However, I allowed them to rush towards Philippe. He was in charge of this whole effort, and I could tell that the managers were much too frenzied to realize how rude they were being.

Philippe calmly stepped down and looking at the managers stated, "No need to be in such a state. You will make our audience uneasy."

Firmin whispered hoarsely, "You do not think they will not be nervous with all the soldiers around?"

I smirked. It was quite true. It did not look like another performance at the opera house. Then again, the audience might be ignorant enough not to realize that something was about to occur.

"Let us go in shall we," Philippe started to walk. The managers walked beside him talking to him, and the guards followed so closely that I was forced to walk at the very back of the group. Although I could not hear everything, I knew what they were talking about. It was simple really. I did not understand why they had to review the plan so many times. Lock to doors. Wait for a signal. Then shoot to kill. There really was not much else to it.

Instead of listening to them worry about it, I chose to ignore them. I looked around at the others. I caught sight of a number of soldiers with their guns ready lurking behind every corner. There were audience members mingling in the hallways and laughing. Were they all so foolish? Did they not sense the tension that hung in the air?

I quickly glanced around feeling the eyes of someone following me. Anywhere else, I would have thought it was simple paranoia, but considering where we were, I knew that it was not. It had to be him, but I could not see him anywhere. I knew he did not want to be found, but why be so obvious when watching someone? He must know that people could tell when they were being watched; however, looking around once more at the clueless individuals around me, I doubted he realized I could tell he was watching me. It was disconcerting though. I grasped the hilt of my sword and glared at the walls not knowing where else to do so. I knew our confrontation would occur soon enough though.

I followed Philippe ignored by everyone but the man we were chasing and watched as Philippe instructed the guards where to go. I thought about telling Philippe that the Phantom… _Erik_… was watching us, but decided that there was nothing we could do about it yet, so it would be useless telling him. Finally, he sent the managers to their seats and we headed towards the stage.

When we arrived, Christine was pacing in the back. She did not want to be here that much was obvious. Meg was nearby trying to comfort her, but she looked distracted as well. Carlotta was loudly complaining to anyone who would listen, and Piangi was fussing with his cloak. None of the performers looked very well. I had never seen them so anxious before. I wondered if this would all go as planned. It seemed less likely as time passed by.

When Meg saw us walking towards her, she acknowledged our presence with a small tilt of her head before leaving. Christine finally took notice of us when Meg left. She ran to Philippe hugging him. I heard Philippe whisper in her ear, "It's quite alright. We'll be here every step of the way."

She nodded but held onto him longer.

If she were anything more than a ballet rat, I would have felt sorry that we were using her as bait. As it were though, with my history with her, I felt a little glad she was bait. I watched them interact, once again completely ignored… yet not. I looked away from them in favour of looking around once more. Maybe I would be able to see a glimpse of him, and then we would not have to go through this whole ordeal. I wondered how he could follow us through all the rooms we had passed. I had not felt his gaze leave me once. I could picture his eyes more clearly than I wanted to admit.

I did not realize until Philippe put his hand on my shoulder that they had stopped talking.

"Why don't you go on ahead to Box 5?" He suggested.

I nodded and left with two guards following. I was a little surprised when I felt the gaze following me still. I thought for certain the Phantom… _Erik_… would stay with Philippe and Christine. I thought the only reason I sensed him was because he was watching Philippe closely. Why would he watch me?

I entered Box 5 and looked out over the audience. It looked to be a full house. I looked towards the stage, but the curtains blocked any sight I could have had of Philippe and Christine. I was about to sit down when I realized that there was a rose on top of a note on the seat. I picked up the rose and saw that there was a black ribbon tied to it. Who else could it have been from? I looked around the box but found nothing else out of place.

I picked up the note and read:

_Raoul_

_Since you have failed in our initial agreement, if you remember the terms well enough you should realize that the ultimatum you had given me was void. If you wish to have your memory refreshed, I believe the deal was that if you had stayed within the opera house for seven days, I would return the ring to you. If you failed, you would expect nothing from me and since your desires will mean nothing to me, I would do as I please. I will hold you to that agreement for I remember you to be an honourable man._

_Furthermore, the ultimatum you gave to me on that seventh day hardly covers the debt you have incurred. You will have to find some other means to repay me for my kindness. I would be glad to offer you several suggestions. Though I fear you will still try to kill me, I hope you will at least stay and enjoy my opera. I do believe it will be enlightening._

_Erik_

I did not know why, but the note made me blush. What was the man trying to insinuate? I forcibly ignored that portion of the letter and focused on the rest.

"Vicomte?"

I turned to the guard who had spoken.

"Is something the matter?"

I shook my head and turned away from him. I walked to the railing and let my gaze wander. Of course, I remember the agreement we had made. I remember I had been so close to obtaining the ring. I had been so close to ending all of this insanity, but then Christine left. And, everything changed that day.

However, a deal then hardly affects the present. I would have liked to believe those words, but I had given my word and I had failed. I could not let the man go wild though. I could not give him free reign in my opera house. He was right about one thing. I would still try to kill him.

I had to wonder though. How did he know I would be here? Were we all playing into his plan instead of the other way around? I looked at the rose.

"Raoul."

I started at Philippe's voice and for some reason quickly hid the note in my jacket.

"Philippe?" I turned around feeling foolish holding a rose, "What are you doing here?"

He looked at me suspiciously before reaching out to grab the rose from my hand. "A gift from an admirer," he mocked.

I frowned at him, "You know very well who it is from. And, you haven't answered my question."

He sat down picking off some imaginary lint from his jacket. "We," he began, "Christine and I that is. We have decided that it would be best if you were waiting in the wings of the stage since you are better acquainted with the Opera Ghost…"

…_Erik_…

"… and I would simply be guessing."

I nodded my head angry that I had almost missed the rest of his sentence because of that voice.

"I told her I could very well tell when a masked man appeared, but she said she would not be risking her life if I could not notice his presence quickly enough," he grinned, "So, you are to stand there and be her guard."

"I understand." I was almost out the door when Philippe commented to me.

"I'll be watching you."

I did not bother to turn around. As I headed back toward the stage, I wondered if I could stand someone else watching me. Not only watching me though, _he_ was following me. I was almost certain he was waiting to kidnap me again. However, the hallways were full not only of audience members, but of soldiers as well.

I reached the stage and stood to the side by Christine. I did not bother speaking to her. She was merely a ballet rat. I had nothing to say to her. Perhaps I could say, 'I hope you do not get killed tonight.' But, I did not think I could sound sincere enough in saying it. Thankfully, she was ignoring me as well.

The orchestra was preparing and the lights were being dimmed. The opera was about to begin. The gaze that had been following me finally left and I knew it meant that he was preparing himself for the opera. He was preparing for his appearance tonight. I glanced up at the rafters and wondered if he was going to come from there. I looked behind me and saw that there were enough props to hide behind. Maybe he was going to come from behind. Wherever he was going to show up though, there would be soldiers.

The curtains were drawn and the music began. It was a cacophony of sound. I glanced out into the audience and saw their expressions. They grimaced and held their ears. I peaked out and glanced up at Philippe. He too did not look pleased with the sound. It was to be expected. It was not what they were used to.

I knew that I should feel the same way as them, but there was something more than just that discordant sound. There was something beneath it that seemed to reach me. The initial sound was like a mask. It was a little frightening and practically screamed (thanks to Carlotta) to stay away. It warded people away from what was hidden beneath it. It was undeniably the Phantom's… _Erik's_… opera.

I winced when I heard Carlotta singing, but knew that it could not be helped. At least her part was over. The music then combined the intensity from the opening with something more furtive. It was an interesting juxtaposition, but I could not focus on it. I glanced around the stage half expecting him to show up at any moment. Sure, we were performing his opera exactly as he told us to, but that did not mean he would do nothing. In fact, everyone thought he was going to do something.

_Passarino, faithful friend,  
once again recite the plan. _

_Your young guest believes I'm you -  
I, the master, you, the man  
When you met you wore my cloak,  
with my scarf you hid your face.   
She believes she dines with me,  
in her master's borrowed place! _

I scoffed at the topic though. The opera would of course be about a man tricking a woman into relations. I momentarily watched the performance before once again turning my attention to more important matters. I looked up the rafters, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps we were all being too paranoid. Perhaps he would do nothing. Perhaps…

_Furtively, we'll scoff and quaff,  
stealing what, in truth, is mine.  
When it's late and modesty  
starts to mellow, with the wine ... _

Wait. My head whipped towards Piangi. What did he just say? Why did those words sound familiar? I wracked my brain for anything. Nothing was coming to mind though. It was probably just my imagination.

I noticed Christine looking at me oddly. I shook my head. I _had_ reacted oddly, but it had not been because of the Phantom…_ Erik_. She looked away from me and towards Box 5. Although I could not see it from my position, I too glanced that way. Philippe would be sitting there waiting in anticipation. I could just picture it.

_You come home! I use your voice -  
slam the door like crack of doom!   
I shall say: "come - hide with me!  
Where, oh, where? Of course - my room!" _

Christine looked anxious. Once again, I had to wonder. How could she be so nervous? The Phantom… _Erik_… was in love with her. He would not hurt her, would he? I was starting to doubt that though. She was going along with the plan. Surely, he would not be too pleased, but I was certain that he realized she had not much of a choice in the matter.

I did my scan of the stage once more. I reached up to adjust my jacket when I remembered the note in my pocket.__

Poor thing hasn't got a chance!  
Here's my hat, my cloak and sword.   
Conquest is assured,  
if I do not forget myself and laugh ... 

I paused in my movements. I had the feeling of déjà vu again. What was going on? There had to be a reason. Christine glared at me momentarily before heading out to the stage.

This plan depended on my attentiveness. I could not let myself be distracted. I could not…

_"... no thoughts  
within her head,  
but thoughts of joy!  
No dreams  
within her heart  
but dreams of love!" _

No way.

Was this whole opera meant to confuse me?

I definitely remembered those words. Who said them though? 'No dreams within her heart but dreams of love?' No dreams within her heart…'

-I did not know whether or not he needed a response to that, but I replied nonetheless. Looking at the stage, I spoke jokingly, "No dreams within my heart but dreams of love."-

I had said it? He had used our conversation in his opera, but why?

My attention was fixed on the stage. Piangi returned in a hooded cloak, which draped over his body loosely and hung low over his face.

_Master? _

Passarino - go away!  
For the trap is set and waits for its prey ... 

I gasped and closed my eyes. It was him. Erik. I allowed the name to be spoken willingly in my head for the first time since that day so long ago. I could not move though. I wanted to tell my body to signal Philippe that he was not going to show up in the box or in the rafters. He was on stage.

What was happening to me? I was a Vicomte. I was stronger than this. It did not matter what his voice sounded like. It did not matter that it washed over me like wave after wave until I could barely breathe.

_You have come here  
in pursuit of  
your deepest urge,  
in pursuit of  
that wish,  
which till now  
has been silent,   
silent ... _

I opened my eyes at those familiar words. 'In pursuit of your deepest urge.' Those feelings had felt so foreign. They had not been mine. Yet, I suddenly felt that they were. I could almost understand why I had felt those things, why I had acted as I had. Almost.

I watched as Christine stood there on stage with him at the mercy of his voice. I wondered if she realized that it was him. She should. He had been her tutor. Piangi sounded nothing like that.

I realized belatedly that everyone had gathered around the edges of the stage entranced by Erik's voice.

I could not allow myself to be entranced. I had to signal Philippe, but my body still would not listen to me. I could not help but stare at the stage as the scene played out.

_I have brought you,  
that our passions  
may fuse and merge -  
in your mind  
you've already  
succumbed to me  
dropped all defenses  
completely succumbed to me -  
now you are here with me:  
no second thoughts,  
you've decided,  
decided ... _

It was then that I felt the familiar gaze on me. The hood was covering his face, but I knew he was staring at me. He was watching me.

It made me shiver. I stared back. I could do nothing but stare back. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest and I could not breathe properly.

What was he doing to me? Why was I letting him do this to me?

_Past the point  
of no return -  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played  
till now are at  
an end ...  
Past all thought   
of "if" or "when" -  
no use resisting:   
abandon thought,  
and let the dream  
descend ... _

Oh all the insanity, I felt as I though he were singing to me. Everyone else faded away. It was almost as though I were back in the hallway confronting him again. It was as though he were singing to me. He was calling to me.

I had to respond. I had to answer his call.

I fought against it. What was there to fight against though? I reached for the hilt of my sword and grabbed it tightly. I was here to kill him. I was here to make certain he never crossed paths with a Chagny ever again.

I could not breathe though. Of all the training I had done, I did not know why this struggle was one of the hardest. I wanted to lose myself in his voice.

_What raging fire  
shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire  
unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction  
lies before  
us ...? _

I was able to pull myself away from his grasp when he gaze turned away from me. He held Christine close and faced the audience.

I was a pawn.

That thought had stayed with me. Of all the thoughts and emotions I had felt were so foreign, that was the only one I could fully understand. I had been a pawn. I had been a pawn not only to Philippe but to Erik as well. Philippe wanted prestige. I had been a hindrance to that before. Erik wanted Christine. I had been a hindrance to that before as well. It had once hurt to think of them as similar, but who was I fooling?

They were both survivors. They did what was necessary to survive in this world and obtain what they desired. It was I who had been the fool. I should have realized sooner that if you were not using someone, you were being used.

Erik, no the Phantom was only using me as a pawn. I had to signal Philippe. I managed to step out further so that I could catch Philippe's eye; however, he stepped away from her then. Erik stepped away from Christine and his gaze seemed to burn as they landed on me once more. I was frozen staring into eyes that I could not physically see.

_Past the point  
of no return,  
the final threshold -  
what warm,   
unspoken secrets  
will we learn?  
Beyond the point  
of no return ... _

It no longer seemed to matter that I was only being used as a pawn.

Nothing mattered besides his voice and the desire to go to him. I almost took a step forward when he stopped singing.

_You have brought me  
to that moment  
where words run dry,  
to that moment  
where speech  
disappears  
into silence,   
silence ... _

Christine's voice brought me out of my stupor. Erik's gaze had not left me, but without his voice, I felt as though I could breathe once more. The only remnant of his power over me was the dull ache in my chest.

I glanced at Philippe and motioned that Erik was on stage. He nodded, but I noticed that his attention was elsewhere. Christine was staring at him as she sung. She was very furtive with her glances, but I could tell she and Philippe were looking at each other.

Once again, I took some pleasure knowing that she would be hurt by him after all this was through. Who did she think she was?

_I have come here,  
hardly knowing  
the reason why ...  
In my mind,  
I've already  
imagined our  
bodies entwining   
defenseless and silent -  
and now I am  
here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided ... _

I wondered what Philippe was waiting for. He should have given the signal to kill Erik by then. I had wanted to do it myself, but if my reaction to his singing were any indication, it would be a very difficult fight.

I glanced at Philippe once more and realized that he was captivated in watching their duet. In fact, as I glanced around the stage at soldiers and performers, then to the audience, I realized that everyone was watching with avid interest. It was as though they all knew something was happening at that very moment. I knew that was not the case though. They were all simply captured by Erik's voice.

At least I knew I was not the only one. I was not the only one to be caught in his spell.

Surprisingly, it was that thought that somehow freed me from it.

_Past the point  
of no return -  
no going back now:  
our passion-play  
has now, at last,  
begun ...  
Past all thought   
of right or wrong -  
one final question:  
how long should we  
two wait, before  
we're one ...? _

Perhaps it was because Christine sang with him, but I no longer felt frozen by his voice. I no longer felt the desire to go to him. I still felt his eyes upon me. His gaze still burned and it still made my heart ache for some reason, but it was not the all-encompassing control over my body as before.

I could not deny his voice was amazing. I knew that if I allowed myself, I would lose myself in it once more. Now, I felt as though I could fight it.

He would die by my sword. I watched and waited for a moment when I could slay him. It was not as though I could simply walk on stage and kill him in front of the audience.

_When will the blood  
begin to race  
the sleeping bud  
burst into bloom?  
When will the flames,  
at last, consume  
us ...?   
Past the point  
of no return  
the final threshold -  
the bridge  
is crossed, so stand  
and watch it burn ...  
We've passed the point  
of no return ... _

Once again, he was holding her. She looked to be intoxicated by his voice. I wondered if I looked like that when he sang.

Soldiers were moving into position. The time was coming. I wondered how we would be able to separate them. Erik was holding onto her tightly. I did not think it would be the best plan to shoot them both. Hopefully Christine would find a way to separate herself from him. Otherwise, it would truly be troublesome to find another prima donna.

_Say you'll share with  
me one  
love, one lifetime ...  
Lead me, save me  
from my solitude ...  
Say you want me  
with you,   
here beside you ...  
Anywhere you go  
let me go too -   
Christine  
that's all I ask of ... _

Those words. Of all the words to sing, why would he sing those words? Why would he sing those words and still be looking at me. I knew Christine and no one else could tell, but I could feel his gaze on me. They were words that would have once swayed my thoughts. I knew that I had wanted to hear those words from him at one point. Luckily, I was smarter now. I knew better than to believe him.

Christine unmasked him and everyone who looked gasped and screamed in horror. I neither gasped nor screamed. When I looked at him, I saw his deformity, but everything I knew about him seemed to come to mind at the moment of his unmasking. It was flesh and bone. He had seen my back and now I had seen his face. It was only proper that I not react badly. How could I react badly to seeing it? We both had secrets. They had both been revealed.

A mask. It was all a mask. My mind lingered on the concept, almost as though stuck in a loop.

He looked at her with hatred before his gaze fell on me once more. I briefly wondered if he expected her to unmask him. Then I caught his eyes and we stood there for a moment. It was as though he were challenging me to follow him. In a flash of light and smoke, they were gone and suddenly the chandelier was falling. I saw people scattering from the heavy fixture and I could tell who would not make it.

I had to follow them.

I distantly heard Carlotta's scream and the rush of feet as everyone tried to evacuate. There was fire climbing to the ceiling and the only thought I had was that I had to find them.

I raced towards the one person who had connections with him. Madame Giry.

"Where has he taken her?"

"Monsieur le Vicomte! Come with me!" she yelled and hurriedly walked.

I followed and realized that Philippe was close behind. He nodded a hello and though he tried to seem grim, I could see a smile on his face.

"Can we trust you?" Philippe asked.

"You must," she commented and glared at him, "But remember: your hand at the level of your eyes."

"But why?" he asked.

I answered for him, "The Punjab lasso."

I held up my hand in demonstration. I had had a long time to think about how Erik might kill me. It only made sense that since Buquet had been killed with a lasso that he would prefer it.

The rest of the trip was silent. Madame Giry brought us through a hidden passageway to a spiral of stairs. We were making our way down when she suddenly stopped.

"This is as far as I go."

I thanked her and started down. I pulled off my jacket and checked on Philippe behind me. I did not understand why he was lagging. I thought he would want to be the first there. Suddenly I fell through a trap.

I did not even have time to scream as I fell into cold water. I heard the door click shut behind me. I looked around worriedly. How was I going to get out of here?

"Philippe!" I called to him.

After a moment, I heard him reply, "I'm going ahead Raoul."

"Philippe!" He could not just leave me here. Suddenly, a metal grate from above began to descend. "Philippe!"

I cursed him. He had left me here to die. I dove under water looking for a way to get out. I thankfully spotted the device that seemed to control the metal grate. Grabbing the wheel attached to a gear, I struggled to turn it. What good was all that training I had done if I was going to drown?

I quickly swam to the surface to get a breath of air. I almost was not able to since the grate was descending much quicker than I had thought. Once again, I grabbed the wheel and tried to turn it. I struggled with it more and the thought crossed my mind that this might not even control the grate. I almost believed that I would die when the wheel gave way and the grate began to rise.

I scurried to the surface panting heavily. I pulled myself out of that deathtrap and looked around the tunnel I had climbed into warily. How many other traps were there just waiting for me to set off?

Was that why Philippe had lagged behind me? He had been using me as a minesweeper. I should have realized. Now how was I to get to them though? I realized that some water was flowing past me. I had assumed it had been excess water from the trap, but it seemed to be rather steady. I knew that Erik lived across a lake. If I followed the water, maybe I would be able to find the lake.

I followed the water feeling cold and miserable. At least, I still had my sword. I wished that I had my jacket though. It was cold and there seemed to be a slight breeze that picked up every now and then whose only purpose seemed to make me shiver uncontrollably. I did not know how many tunnels I had gone through, but it felt as though I was going nowhere.

I wondered if Philippe had managed to get to Erik's lair yet. It would be a shame if I came too late. It would be worse if I died forever lost in these tunnels. At least, I had yet to fall into another trap though.

I started to run partly because it would help warm me up and partly because I could swear, I heard Erik's voice.

I quickly waded through the water towards a portcullis.

"What a shame," Erik spoke. He was kneeling on someone with a rope in hand.

Seeing Christine practically hanging nearby I immediately knew it was Philippe. I could not believe he had lost. How long had they been fighting?

"Release him!" I shouted.

Erik did not respond but finished tying Philippe up. He tossed him easily to the side waiting a beat before turning towards me.

"Vicomte," he said and I could detect no mocking in his tone. "I'm so glad you could make it."

I grasped the portcullis hearing Christine whimper and Philippe moan.

"Free them. Do what you like only free them!" I yelled and I realized what I was doing. I was begging. I would beg no longer. I ordered, "Let me see them."

I wondered if he would listen to me even though I had ordered him to do so. He paused for a moment looking at his captives and then towards me.

"Be my guest sir," he replied and pulled a lever. The portcullis shuddered and slowly lifted up.

I ducked under the gate and walked warily towards them. I paused a short distance away thinking I would be safe.

Erik stalked towards me, "It seems we have a full house tonight, do we not?"

"Free them," I stated calmly.

"A lot has happened," he continued as though he had not heard me. He walked closer to me, "I could free them, but," he reached into the water and the noise of the portcullis dropping behind me caused me to turn around. Suddenly, there was the lasso around my neck. I threw my hand up quickly and the lasso fell around my shoulders. Even then, he tied me. He easily overpowered me. "Why would I want to free them when I could just capture you all?"

He wrapped the rope around my arms and torso and threw me against the portcullis. From behind him, I could see that Christine had somehow managed to free herself from the ropes and she had started on freeing Philippe. I struggled harder against him hoping to distract him long enough. Erik only held onto me tighter. I was surprised that he was avoiding my injuries. They had all healed, but it was as though he were consciously avoiding them.

"Release me!" I screamed. With him so close, I could almost remember those thoughts I had in the past. He was not very rough in tying me and I could hear that voice in my head calling out to him.

He whispered, "Never," in my ear and I stopped struggling. That had not been the response I was expecting. He had spoken that one word with such intensity that I was taken aback.

He looked behind him and saw that they were free from their bonds. He screamed, "You wretched woman you!"

Christine was in Philippe's arms. Erik stalked towards them, but Philippe held up his hands in supplication.

"Perhaps we should make a deal."

Erik paused, and I wondered what Philippe had up his sleeves. Would he leave me again?

"What deal?" Erik asked warily.

"Free us," Philippe motioned to him and Christine, "and do what you like with _him_," he pointed to me. I glared at him. He was going to leave me again. He was going to leave me to die. However, I doubted that death was what Erik had in mind. "We will never return."

He would never accept that deal. Erik actually paused. He looked towards me, and in that moment, Philippe caught my eyes. He motioned that I should kill him. I looked towards Erik. Would he accept the deal? If he did, I wondered if he would actually free me long enough to attempt to kill him. This must be Philippe's way of giving me the opportunity to kill him. I had to succeed somehow.

"Go and never return," Erik said plainly pointing to a passageway. He watched them as they left. He waited a few moments watching the exit they had just gone through.

Turning to me, he smiled. I knew he had smiled at me before. I could not understand why though. Why did he look at me like that?

"Raoul."

My name had never felt so weighty. There were so many emotions attached to my name when he said it.

He looked at me warily. He seemed to deflate. All the bravado and anger of moments ago seemed to vanish. He only seemed exhausted. He reached my side and cautiously raised his hand up. I flinched, but he did not hit me. He rested his palm on the side of my face and sighed deeply. His head dropped beside mine leaning against the portcullis. I tensed at the contact. What was he planning to do?

He murmured more to himself than to me, "I don't know what I'm going to do."

I started at his words though. It was as though he had heard my thoughts.

His thumb stroked my cheek and I could feel the blood rush to my face. Was this what his 'suggestions' for repaying his kindness had been?

He sighed once more before pulling away from me.

"You still want to kill me," he stated more as a fact than a question.

I wondered if I should lie, but something told me that I should not. It was not as though he did not know. I nodded my head.

He nodded too. He left my side to go on shore and I wondered if he was going to leave me tied there. He grabbed a sword and walking towards me resolutely, he swung. I closed my eyes certain I was going to die when I heard the clang of the sword hitting the portcullis. Suddenly the ropes that had held me fell to the water.

I opened my eyes in confusion.

He met my gaze evenly and with more than a little bit of sadness said, "Let us see how cruel fate can be. Come."

I pulled my sword out of its sheath not willing to take any more chances. Apparently, Erik wanted to see who the better fighter was. I would show him that I had trained enough to know that I would win. Like I had known weeks before, he would die by my sword.

I quickly lunged to his right side knowing it had been wounded before. He easily parried and stepped away. I swung towards his head then torso in quick succession, but he easily blocked it. I had not realized that he was so quick. This water was not making it any easier either. I maneuvered my way onto the dry land.

"Raoul."

I ignored my name. I was concentrating. He would probably try to distract me. I lunged and swung viciously at him. He somehow stayed just outside my reach and what was close was easily blocked. I had trained. I had spent hours and hours concentrating. How could I not land a single blow?

"Are you truly that weak?"

That caught my attention. "Weak?" I scoffed. It did not look as though he were mocking me though. I wondered what he was talking about. More than that though, I wondered why he was not attacking. He was only defending. I could not find a single flaw in his defense. The only way I could possibly hurt him is if I found a flaw in his offense. He would not attack though.

"Were you so weak to give up that easily?"

I angrily charged him. I swiped at every body part I could: arm, leg, torso. Repeat. Arm, leg, head. Every time he dodged, I plunged forward. Every time he parried, I attacked a different body part. I could get nothing though.

"How could you let Philippe win?"

I glared at him. "What are you talking about?" I swung my sword down towards his head. He blocked it. I tried to force his sword down but he held strong.

"You're just like him."

I faltered. Some part of me thought that was bad. How could that be though? I was trying to be just like him. "Good," I gritted out. I pulled back.

"No, you didn't want to be like him."

How could he be so calm right now? Why wasn't he out of breath? Why was he asking me all these questions?

I screamed in frustration before attacking him again. He sidestepped a lunge and grabbed my arm. Stepping behind me, he grabbed me in a bear hug effectively immobilizing my arms. I wiggled but he held firm. I stopped struggling and responded, "How would you know that?"

"I just do," his words brushed against my neck and I struggled more.

_Erik!_

The voice was almost unbearably loud.

He was only trying to lower my defenses. I had to be strong. It was just like with before when he had tried to kidnap me.

"Let me go."

He hugged me tighter and the scars on my back suddenly flared to life. They had not bothered me for a while now. I was too strong for that. I was a Vicomte. Of all the times to choose to act up again? Now, they were unbearable. What was he doing to me? Why did they hurt so much? It felt as though they were burning through my back. The pain radiated from my back and into my arms. The sword dropped uselessly from my hand. The pain then radiated down to my legs, which suddenly gave out. We lurched forward. Erik had not been expecting that.

He released me long enough to break our fall. I hit the floor hard enough to cause more pain but nothing serious. I landed a few feet away from him. He stared at me as I lay on the floor motionless. The pain was not subsiding. I clenched my eyes shut and waited and prayed that the pain would go away. I was not even lying on my back. Yet, somehow, the pain did not abate. How could I lose in such a manner?

"Raoul," he spoke softly to me as though I were some skittish wild animal, "what's wrong?"

I tried to ignore him. I tried to ignore his kindness – the one he had given me not only now but from before. I looked at the sword that was an arm's distance away. If I could move my arm, I could get it. I could kill him. I knew that I could neither grab the sword nor kill him.

He knelt beside me and checked to see if there was any blood.

"Hurts." I managed to get out. I was surprised that I could speak at all. My lungs felt like they were on fire.

He looked up quickly as though he had heard something.

I held my breath focusing on everything but the pain.

"You aren't," I began without knowing just why, "going to kill me now, are you?"

He looked down at me surprised. His lips upturned slightly before he scoffed. He placed a hand on my forehead, Though he was not looking at me, he He placed his Hand it was oddly comforting. "Does it look like I'm going to kill you?"

"Should," I gasped as the pain flared unexpectedly, "Should I know what that's supposed to look like?"

I grinned up at him. There were a million things wrong with having this conversation right now. I was supposed to be killing him. He was supposed to be trying to kill me. We were enemies. I really did not know why I was saying these things. But of all the things I had done since our last meeting, this was the only thing that felt right. It was the only thing that did not feel amiss.

"You'll know," he responded.

And suddenly the pain decreased to a manageable amount. I took a deep breath. It took all of the energy I had to push myself away from him. Erik looked at me warily.

Standing up, he grabbed both our swords and offered me mine. I forced myself to stand. My legs felt weak. A barrage of memories seemed to attack me. There were so many things that seemed familiar to me. Not my memories. They had not been my memories. Yet they were.

"Shall we continue?"

I tentatively grabbed my sword. He was right. It did not matter that he had not attacked me when the pain had been too much. It did not matter that we had just shared that moment together. It did not matter that my memory was conspiring against me so that everything reminded me of what used to be. We were fighting. He was my enemy. Philippe had told me that it was a Vicomte's duty, and I was a Vicomte. Nothing had changed.

And it was that thought that made me pause. Nothing had changed? The truth was everything had changed. Everything had been changing so fast. I looked at Erik who simply waited for my next move. My next move…

"You've been doing all of this for me?" I wanted to know. Philippe had known that Erik would let them go if he had offered me. I thought he wanted Christine. To me, there had been no other reason to go through all that effort.

Erik nodded. "Of course."

I scoffed. Of course? Apparently, it was not that obvious to me. "Why?"

He considered the question for a moment. "Because," he decided on an answer, "you told me to stay."

I stepped closer to him letting my sword drop to the ground. I had wanted him to stay. More than anything else, I had wanted him to stay. That had been in the past too. I could see the hope in his eyes. And the word I had told myself would not cross my lips did "Erik?"

He looked relieved and dropped his own sword. He took a step towards me before suddenly lurching forward. He fell onto me and I unsteadily placed him on the floor. Philippe stood behind him with a triumphant grin on his face. He held the gun in his hand.

"Philippe!" I looked at Erik's form. He was still breathing. There was no blood and I had heard no gunshot.

"Hello Raoul. You did not think I would leave you behind, did you?"

I mentally rolled my eyes. Of course, he would leave me behind. "Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Oh," Philippe started to drag Erik away. "We should get going before the mob gets here. Help me out."

"No," I watched as Philippe tried to drag him away, "I want to know why you did not shoot him."

"I have other plans for him."

I scowled, "This was not part of the plan."

He shrugged. "It was not part of your plan. Plans change. Christine is waiting with the boat. We have to hurry."

"Give me the gun," I ordered, "It's not going to end like this."

Philippe outright laughed. "So that you can do what? Kill our ticket to fame? Now stop complaining and help me drag him."

I leaned forward pretending to grab Erik's arm and as Philippe grabbed his other arm, I lunged forward and knocked the gun from his grasp. I chased it down. It was not going to end like this. We had all had plans: Erik, me, Christine, and Philippe. I was tired of plans changing. I was tired of people changing. I was tired of change. I carefully aimed and fired.

The sound echoed loudly through the cavern.

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End ch21

Word count: 10,537

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Sorry for typos… I usually give a day separation before proofreading (since I tend to gloss over things after so many hours of working on a story), but I did writing and proofreading at the same time today so that I could use tomorrow for UTC22. I could just post this tomorrow, and you would not know the difference, but I've never really been good at sitting on a finished (hopefully with no typos) chapter.

Chapter Review: That was a bloody long song BTW. Yeah, I said someone was going to die. You won't find out until Chapter 23 though. TT

A lot happened and really fast too. I hope you don't think I'm rushing through this because I'm finally off hiatus (really really long hiatus, right?). I'm just finishing this as I had originally planned. This chapter was major action packed. A lot of reversals of fate, huh?


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Changes!

Warning(s): Mild violence. Slash (homosexual content).

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: That's quite an evil cliffhanger.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 22

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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Last time:

It was disheartening this process of trying to lure him away and failing day after day after day. He was in my opera house. He was so close. Raoul was out of my reach though. Mentally, and then after a few weeks physically. One day he simply stopped showing.

The Comte was forcing me to show at Don Juan Triumphant. He wanted me to do something. It was as though he were daring me to. If things came to that, I would not disappoint.

I would find a way to get Raoul. If I had to play the Comte's game, if I had to kidnap Christine, if I had to fight Raoul, I would do it all to get him. He belonged with me. It was inevitable.

o.o.o

Tonight was the night.

After all the rehearsals that the Opera Populaire had been having, the preparations that had been made in response to the law enforcement that had been called, and my seemingly long separation from Raoul, everything was going to come to fruition.

I was restless the entire morning. I barely had any sleep the night before. I was nervous and excited. I would finally see Raoul again. I would have my chance to take him back.

Honestly, I had been restless these past weeks not just this morning. I had not had a single peaceful night's rest either. How could I rest knowing that Raoul wanted to kill me? How many regrets did I have? Before all this happened, I had no regrets. I did not care who I hurt, who I killed, and what I did to get what I wanted. I did not regret my actions because I considered it only fair considering the hand that fate had dealt me. After all the injustices I had gone through, it was only fair that I obtain whatever I wanted through whatever means I saw fit.

I did not have any regrets until Raoul. I would have done so many things differently with him. I had never felt this way about anyone before. He consumed every thought I had, every emotion I felt. He consumed me. I had had so many chances with him. He was deposited into my hands at least three times, and each of those times, I let him go. And, as much as I said I would protect him, I could not. I did not. I had failed, and because of that failure, he was gone. The Raoul I knew was gone.

It's just that it had been so much easier to push him away. It was easier to get mad at him and punish him for the confusion I felt. It was easier to believe that whatever I felt was simply a passing emotion.

Wanting Christine had hurt too much. She had disappointed me every way possible. Betrayal hurt, and Raoul paid the price for what she had done. Trying to _not_ love Raoul though hurt so much more.

It was not as though I could deny it any longer. Raoul was everything I wanted. He had somehow made me realize that I had compassion, I had pity, and more importantly, that I was not alone. For a while, I had considered myself to be as much of a monster as everyone believed, and even when I began to deny it, there had been that part of me that still believed I was only a monster. He had given me so much, and I refused to give up on him. I refused to admit that I had been defeated by the Comte.

It was not as though I did not know what they were planning. The managers could hardly keep a secret. The increase of guards at the doors and the planning sessions that had been held hardly screamed secret. I knew their plan.

I had a plan of my own. They expected me to act as I had in the past. They expected mere parlour tricks. I would not be racing through the rafters or dropping scenery. I would not be in the ceiling. I had written the opera, and it was my prerogative to be in it. I _was _Don Juan after all. I still believed that I could reach Raoul somehow. He had been well guarded before, but now, I would have my opportunity.

If the Comte wanted to challenge me, then I would challenge him in turn. Seeing how Raoul had been recently acting, he would follow. He wanted to kill me. I could use that to my advantage. As much as I wanted to simply kidnap Raoul, the closest person I could get to at the performance was neither the Comte nor Raoul. It was actually Christine. She would be on stage, and I would be there with her.

I had watched them practicing my opera. I knew the exact part I would switch with Piangi. Watching Don Juan Triumphant annoyed me though. It reminded me of what I used to be, of who I used to be. I was no longer that person. That person had been left in the cemetery.

I spent the morning walking around checking and rechecking my passageways. I was not worried that anyone would have found them. I had lived beneath the opera house for so many years and no one so far found my passageways. I roamed the passageways simply because I did not know what else to do. I was not used to being patient. I was not used to waiting for what I wanted. I usually just took it.

The morning passed extremely slowly. I asked myself constantly. Was I ready for this?

Was I?

Unfortunately, I came up with the same answer every time. I was not. I was nowhere near ready. I was ready for many things now. I was ready to perform my opera. I was ready to face down a hundred soldiers if I had to. I was ready to confront both Christine and the Comte. I was ready to risk my life for Raoul.

I was not ready however, to face the Raoul who wanted to kill me.

I knew that I could not die just yet, but I could not bring myself to want to hurt him. I could not even imagine intentionally attacking him anymore. I had told myself that I would protect him, and even though I could not and had not protected him from everyone else, I would protect him from myself.

When the opera house finally opened and began to let the audience in, I felt anxious and relieved at once. What would happen would happen. I could not stop it. I would face my destiny tonight, and I hoped that it involved a happy ending. It could not be so much to ask for a happy ending after everything that had happened.

I went to my home and dressed. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. I hated my reflection. I hated everything about my deformity. It had driven everyone away. That was not entirely true though. Raoul had never seen my face, and I had still driven him away.

I had changed though. I was not the same person I had been from before, and I was proud of that. I could admit that I had changed only because of Raoul. What could I do with this change? It was not as though I could suddenly go out into the public now that I decided I would stop killing people. I would not be accepted with open arms just because I stopped considering myself to be a monster. They would still scream and yell. They would all still try to kill me.

No, change did not mean things would get better. It did not mean that people would treat me differently because I felt differently. The change I had gone through simply meant that I would no longer allow myself to be caged. I would not allow myself to wallow in the despair that I had created for myself. I was my own worst enemy, and with this change, I could stop that. I could be freed from the cage I had allowed myself to be trapped in. I could find freedom and maybe that freedom was with Raoul.

Although there was still plenty of time before the opera really began, I dressed up in my costume and slipped on a mask. I wanted to be upstairs to catch sight of Raoul the moment he walked in. I hoped that there was some sort of change in his demeanor from the last time we met. Maybe he was only acting for the sake of fooling the Comte. That would have made sense if the Comte had been around when we had been talking. I knew I was lying to myself with such thoughts, but I could only hope I would not have to fight him.

I raced to the stage and checked the trap door. I would kidnap Christine to infuriate the Comte. The Comte and thusly Raoul would follow me down to my lair where I would trap them. I would leave the Comte and Christine in the cellar and take Raoul with me. It seemed simple enough. There were more intricate details, but that was the basic gist.

The thought had of course crossed my mind that I would like to kill Christine and the Comte, but I knew that I should not. There was no point in doing so. My attention to them had always been my downfall. I should just take Raoul and leave. We would go somewhere… I did not know where, but anywhere away from Paris and away from his family and Christine would be ideal.

Seeing that everything was in working order, I made a quick detour to Box 5. There was a guard by the door, but he hardly noticed when I used a secret panel to enter and exit the box leaving a present for Raoul. I would have to make sure that it would be Raoul who received it. I could always just follow the Comte and Raoul. I had already planned to do so. Finished with that task, I left to wait by the front doors. Already waiting at the doors were the managers and a group of soldiers. I wondered if they understood anything about subtlety.

Andre was nervously fidgeting with his sleeve. He looked around and forced smiles at the incoming regulars. The regulars were always the first ones to the opera. They liked to mingle with the other elite. I wondered why none of them was smart enough to realize that something was off. I knew that some of the guards were not in plain sight, but the ones that were would surely raise some questions. However, looking at the number of carriages pulling up, it would appear as though the full house had been sold. These people were completely obtuse.

"Are you sure this will work?" Andre asked.

Firmin looked around and greeted a few people who passed, "It has to, Andre. We know he will be here."

Andre nodded vigorously.

Firmin added, "The Comte seems very certain as well."

"Yes, about that…" Andre did not seem impressed. At least one of the managers had the brains to realize the Comte was not to be trusted. I was simply surprised that it was Andre.

Andre was not able to finish for the Chagny carriage pulled up at that moment.

My heart sped up. It had been far too long. I had hardly wanted to separate for a mere day before being separated for weeks.

Raoul was the first one to exit the carriage. The managers and the soldiers that followed them hurriedly greeted him before pushing him aside to speak to the Comte.

Raoul frowned at them, and I was glad to see him. I had reconciled the idea of him having short hair, but I had forgotten how handsome he looked now that you could clearly see his face. Short hair was not a terrible idea. He watched as the Comte stepped out of the carriage, and I watched him. I did not care very much about the Comte. He was merely a nuisance that I was forced to confront. I would not let him distract me from Raoul anymore.

Looking at him, I knew automatically that he was not my Raoul. He was still that evil mixture between Comte and Vicomte that I had encountered earlier. At least, he looked alive and well. It appeared as though he was sleeping and eating better than the last time we had separated. He was not walking uncomfortably, so I could surmise that he had not been given any more wounds. Overall, as far as bad news went, this was amazingly good.

The Comte climbed down from the carriage and motioned the managers to stop talking, "No need to be in such a state. You will make our audience uneasy."

Firmin whispered hoarsely, "You do not think they will not be nervous with all the soldiers around?"

I saw Raoul smirk. I had not quite expected that. Before, Raoul had this odd hero worship of the Comte. He had followed him like a dog followed his master. He had been subservient to the Comte, but just now, he had openly smirked when Firmin had clearly disagreed with him. Did this mean that Raoul was less under the Comte's control? Did this change anything?

The Comte ignored the comment. "Let us go in shall we," he started to walk. The managers walked beside him talking to him, and the guards followed so closely that Raoul was forced to walk at the very back of the group.

I too followed them closely, never once taking my eyes off Raoul. I wanted to see if I could avoid this whole opera. All I needed was a moment alone with Raoul. I could see that both Raoul and the Comte were armed with swords. Not to mention the fact that there were a number of guards around them. It would be difficult to find a moment when he would be alone. Even if there was a moment, he would probably struggle which would then get everyone's attention. As confident as I was with my skills in battle, I would lose in an unequal fight. There were just too many guards.

I spared some of my attention to the managers and the Comte. They were talking about their plan again. I swear they might as well have posted up a sign saying what the plan was with all the time they spoke of it. I even knew it by now. It was simple really. Lock the doors. Wait for the signal. Then shoot to kill. There really was not much else to it, and I had heard it so many times that I hoped they would just put up a sign. I was thankful that their plan was not more complicated or else they might get confused. Thanks to that simplicity though, I would have a lot off leeway in my actions. They were setting up a trap, and it was an easy one to get around.

I doubted that was it though. I knew that the Comte would not be stupid enough to think that I would not hear the plan. He could not be stupid enough to think that I would fall for such a simple trap. He was planning something else, and I was not sure who else knew about it. From the look of Raoul's bored expression and the new rebellious streak I saw earlier, I doubted that he knew that the Comte was planning something else. I had to be a little more careful now.

Raoul began to look around suspiciously. At first, he had been observing the others as they mingled and talked. A year ago, he would have been doing the same thing. He would have been making his way around to each individual promoting the Opera Populaire and proving how wonderful a patron he was. He would have kept many of the people that way. He had been charming then in a way that was thoroughly fake. They would not have recognized it because they were fake as well. Now, he was looking past the people into the dark corners of every foyer and up at the ceiling. He was looking for me, and I wondered if he realized I was following him. He surprised me by grabbing the hilt of his sword and glaring at a wall very close to where I was watching.

I did not think he had been that observant before. He definitely knew that I was watching him. Unless he did that every now and then just to fool me. He turned his attention away from me and towards the Comte.

The Comte was ordering the guards to go to different places around the opera house and to wait for the signal. Hearing the phrase, 'shoot to kill' so often was very ominous. Raoul looked like he was about to say something to the Comte but he quickly closed his mouth. I wondered why he kept it a secret that I was following them. He knew I was. It would have been helpful to know that your prey was watching as you set the trap. While I did not think that Raoul had done it for my sake, I thought it was a good sign that he no longer told the Comte everything.

This made me hope that the note I had written him would be able to sway his judgment.

Sending the managers to their seats, the Comte and Raoul headed towards the stage. I followed, knowing that Christine would be waiting for them. I had not been watching Christine very much these past few weeks except during the times when she practiced my opera. It was inevitable. I needed to know how they were handling my opera, and she happened to be the lead. I no longer had a reason to follow her though. I knew that she interacted with the Comte quite a bit during her free time. I knew that they were quite physical with each other, but I no longer cared what she did. Watching those two only served to anger me. When I was that angry, I tended to destroy parts of the opera house, so I only watched them when absolutely necessary.

I had stopped talking with Madame Giry as well. She had tried to contact me a few times, but I refused. I had fallen apart for a few days at the beginning when I kept failing to get Raoul. I had never failed at something so consistently. I could not remember a time when I had failed at anything. Although my life was hardly a success, if I wanted to draw, I could draw well. If I wanted to write music, I could compose an opera the likes no one had ever heard before. If I wanted anything, I had been able to obtain it. Even when I had wanted Christine, I had been able to kidnap her.

With Raoul, it was one failure after another. It had been devastating. I had not known failure. I had not known how so much effort could obtain nothing.

When we arrived backstage, Christine was pacing. I smiled at her anxiety. It was only fair since I was anxious myself. She was lucky I would not kill her. Meg was nearby trying to comfort her, but she looked distracted as well. I knew that if Meg was near, Madame Giry was near as well. She had not liked the fact that I had cut off all exchanges with her. She would worry over her daughter. It took me a moment but I saw her quite a distance away, but fixedly watching her daughter. Carlotta was loudly complaining to anyone who would listen, and Piangi was fussing with his cloak. None of the performers looked very well. I had never seen them so anxious before. I almost felt bad for them. I laughed to myself. I did not feel bad for them at all actually. I was glad they were nervous. I was glad they were afraid. It meant that I would not have to do very much to get their attention. If they feared me, they would stay away and everything would go as planned.

When Meg saw them walking towards her, she acknowledged their presence with a small tilt of her head before leaving. Christine finally took notice of them when Meg left. She ran to the Comte hugging him. I heard the Comte whisper in her ear, "It's quite alright. We'll be here every step of the way."

She nodded but held onto him longer. The sight did not fail to anger me. Raoul did not seem to care. I was glad for it because my Raoul would have been hurt to see a scene like that. I still wanted to injure them for having the gall to touch each other so freely in front of both Raoul and me. Of all the insolent things to do… I would get back at the Comte any way I could.

They ignored Raoul, and I wondered if everyone was going to ignore Raoul. If they were going to ignore him, then his absence should not be missed. He once again did not seem to care. Instead, he turned his attention to his surroundings. He must know that I had been following him. He was so intent on finding me. If only that desire was not connected to his desire to kill me, I would have liked the attention.

I heard Christine whisper quietly, "Does he know?" She indicated to Raoul.

The Comte shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I do not think he would approve."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Then make him approve."

He once again shook his head. He motioned for her to stand off to the side before turning to Raoul. Seeing Raoul inattentive, the Comte put a hand on his shoulder. I glared at him. He should not touch Raoul. I was ready to reveal myself and force our confrontation to this very moment. However, he released Raoul's shoulder and suggested.

"Why don't you go on ahead to Box 5?"

I agreed with that suggestion. If Raoul went ahead, then at least I would not have to worry about the Comte getting the note first.

He nodded and left with two guards following. I hated those guards. At least if Raoul had been alone, I might have had a chance to speak to him. I doubted that even if I tried to simply speak with him, he would listen. He knew how to use his sword and apparently, he had no qualms against hurting me. It would have been nice though to be able to speak to him before this whole plan, this whole scenario occurred. That was just wishful thinking though. I had never been one to just talk. I was a man of action, a man forced to take action. Our conversation would just have to wait.

He entered Box 5 and looked out over the audience.

It was a full house as I had expected it to be. I noticed Raoul look towards the stage where the Comte and Christine would have been standing, but the curtains blocked any sight he could have had of them. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he jealous? I doubted that. His apathy towards Christine was probably the only trait I liked about his new personality.

He was about to sit down when he finally realized that there was a rose on top of a note on the seat. I had wondered if he was going to sit on it before realizing it was there. He picked up the rose and saw that there was a black ribbon tied to it. He frowned slightly. Who else could it have been from? He was sitting in my box, and Christine must have told him about the black ribbon. He looked around the box and I felt his eyes skim over my hiding spot, but he found nothing else to be out of place.

He picked up the note and read:

_Raoul_

_Since you have failed in our initial agreement, if you remember the terms well enough you should realize that the ultimatum you had given me was void. If you wish to have your memory refreshed, I believe the deal was that if you had stayed within the opera house for seven days, I would return the ring to you. If you failed, you would expect nothing from me and since your desires will mean nothing to me, I would do as I please. I will hold you to that agreement for I remember you to be an honourable man._

_Furthermore, the ultimatum you gave to me on that seventh day hardly covers the debt you have incurred. You will have to find some other means to repay me for my kindness. I would be glad to offer you several suggestions. Though I fear you will still try to kill me, I hope you will at least stay and enjoy my opera. I do believe it will be enlightening._

_Erik_

I had written the note trying to appeal to his 'honour.' He had focused on how much he was a Vicomte that I hoped he would realize that killing me was not the answer. Halfway through the letter though, I realized a note was nothing compared to what the Comte must have been doing to him. It was nothing compared to the brainwashing Raoul experienced at home, so I ended the letter with what I had been thinking at the time.

Not surprisingly, after being able to touch Raoul so freely when he was unconscious, not many completely pure thoughts ran through my mind when thinking about him.

I was pleased to see him blush. He frowned and stared at the letter.

"Vicomte?"

He turned to the guard who had spoken. I too looked at him. He was disturbing the moment for me. I half expected Raoul to tell the guard to get the Comte or report that the letter had been sent. The letter practically said I would do something during the opera – although I considered that a given already.

"Is something the matter?"

Raoul shook his head and turned away from him. He walked to the railing and let his gaze wander. He was deep in thought. I wondered what he was thinking.

The letter inevitably reminded me of that day. Sure, it reminded me of the first day that Raoul had denied me anything. It reminded me of when Raoul suddenly changed. However, I remembered the days seven days before then. I remembered Raoul in my arms, holding me. I remembered his smiles and his expressions. I remembered eating with him and watching him sleep. I remembered touching him, and I wanted those moments back. I wanted to touch him. He did not belong anywhere but with me, and the Comte had taken that away from me.

Everything had changed, and I wanted to make the Comte pay dearly for what he had done. I almost wanted to be that person who would kill him. Somehow, I knew that if I even tried, Raoul would be lost to me forever. So, I could not. I would have to find some other way to get back at him, but I could not kill him.

Raoul stared at the rose for a while. I stared at Raoul.

The Comte entered the box and called Raoul's name.

He started at Philippe's voice and for some reason quickly hid the note in his jacket.

Was he that embarrassed by what I had written? Whatever the reason for his hiding the note, at least, I knew he would not be revealing anything prematurely about my true affections towards Raoul.

"Philippe?" He turned around holding the rose, "What are you doing here?"

The Comte looked at him suspiciously. I knew he had not seen Raoul hide the note. He reached out and grabbed the rose from his hand. "A gift from an admirer," he mocked.

I smiled, but it was short-lived. I could try to fool myself all I wanted about the Comte's knowledge of my affections towards Raoul, but he knew that there was something more than what I had revealed. I had tried to kidnap Raoul. What else would he think?

Raoul frowned at him, "You know very well who it is from. And, you haven't answered my question."

The Comte sat down picking off some imaginary lint from his jacket. "We," he began, "Christine and I that is. We have decided that it would be best if you were waiting in the wings of the stage since you are better acquainted with the Opera Ghost and I would simply be guessing."

I rolled my eyes. I hardly believed that excuse. They did not want to leave Raoul alone. I could not be certain of the exact reason, but they did not want Raoul in this box. I did not like it.

Raoul did not seem to think anything was amiss as he simply nodded his head.

"I told her I could very well tell when a masked man appeared, but she said she would not be risking her life if I could not notice his presence quickly enough," the Comte grinned, "So, you are to stand there and be her guard."

I stared at the Comte trying to figure him out. His motives were always convoluted. I could only guess what his true motives were.

"I understand," Raoul responded before turning to leave. We were both almost out the door when Philippe commented.

"I'll be watching you."

Raoul did not bother to turn around and neither did I. It did not matter if the Comte said he was watching. It only meant that he would watch as I took Raoul away from him.

As we headed back toward the stage, Raoul continually looked over his shoulder. A guard was following, but I knew he was not looking at him. I wondered why Raoul could suddenly tell when I was watching him. He had never noticed before.

When he reached the stage, he stood to the side by Christine. I watched them expecting some sort of exchange. They used to be childhood friends. Was that not the reason Raoul had gone as far as threatening me? That should not have changed. What of his honour? However, they did not exchange a single word. He ignored her, and though she sneaked peaks at him, she did not say anything to him. I wondered if she had ever felt anything for him. There had to have been a time when she had seen him more than just a Vicomte. It no longer mattered. There was nothing between them now.

The orchestra was preparing and the lights were being dimmed. The opera was about to begin. I looked at Raoul one more time hoping that what I was about to do would bring us together. This was all part of the plan. Everything was falling into place so far, but would everything turn out well?

I quickly noted where all the guards were. They were everywhere. The managers definitely wanted to succeed in catching me. I slipped into rafters to watch as they pulled the curtains back. The music began and I was amused to see the reaction on everyone's faces. The performers at least continued even though the audience looked less than pleased with the sound that was coming forth from the orchestra pit. The audience including the Comte grimaced and held their ears. It was to be expected. I had written this opera as though I myself were the music. It was simply the reaction they would have had to viewing my face.

I glanced towards Raoul. He was not grimacing. He was not shying away from the sound. It was more like he was concentrating on hearing it more clearly. I looked at him in awe. He never failed to amaze me. Whoever wanted to kill me, Raoul was still somewhere in there. He was still listening to my music, to my words, to me. I had to reach him somehow and I knew how.

The song I was going to trade places with Piangi for. Point of No Return was our song. When I had first written it, I thought that I should be worried that Raoul's words had set the song into motion. His presence, not hers. His words, not hers. His voice, not hers. I had wondered if the desire I felt while writing the song was his as well. They were. These thoughts, these feelings that had come through in the song were not for Christine. They had never been for Christine. They were for him.

At the time, I had thought the song to be important, but I had not realized that it would be this important.

I noticed him wince when Carlotta's voice shrieked on a high note. I glared at her when I saw her fighting with another performer on whose hand should be above the other. I did not have the time to deal with her juvenile behaviour though. Piangi had stepped on to the stage.

_Passarino, faithful friend,  
once again recite the plan. _

_Your young guest believes I'm you -  
I, the master, you, the man  
When you met you wore my cloak,  
with my scarf you hid your face.   
She believes she dines with me,  
in her master's borrowed place! _

I sang along in my head. I could visualize the sheet music and listened as the third trombone missed a note. They had not listened to my suggestions. However, I would be surprised if they could find someone at all who would work for the theatre. It was not like it truly mattered. I would be leaving the opera house soon enough. Old habits die hard though.

I watched Raoul waiting for some indication that he would realize what I had done to this song. He was looking around the stage looking for me. I had told him to pay attention to the opera.

_Furtively, we'll scoff and quaff,  
stealing what, in truth, is mine.  
When it's late and modesty  
starts to mellow, with the wine ... _

I smirked when his head whipped towards Piangi. At least I knew he was listening.

He looked so confused. How deep did he bury that memory?

Christine stared at him in worry. Raoul shook his head. She glared at him before turning her attention back at the stage. No, she bypassed the stage and looked towards Box 5, towards the Comte. I did not like the looks they shared with each other. It always made me wary. Raoul also glanced in that direction.

Would he remember why this song was special?

_You come home! I use your voice -  
slam the door like crack of doom!   
I shall say: "come - hide with me!  
Where, oh, where? Of course - my room!" _

I saw Raoul focusing on Christine. After he had ignored her so much, I wondered why he would watch her now. The better question would be why wasn't he paying attention to my opera?

He looked around the stage once more. In any case, I knew _I_ was in his thoughts. Adjusting his jacket, his hand paused over the pocket. His cheeks reddened a bit, and I knew he had remembered the note in his pocket.

I just needed to lower his defenses a little more. I needed him to be open to me. As it was now, he would only fight me before I could get a word in.

_Poor thing hasn't got a chance!  
Here's my hat, my cloak and sword.   
Conquest is assured,  
if I do not forget myself and laugh ... _

He paused again, but I could no longer watch him. Piangi had gone behind the curtain and this was my cue.

I jumped down from my hiding place and choked Piangi making sure I did not kill him. There was no need. All my anger was directed at a different individual. He passed out and I tied him up and gagged him in case he woke up sooner than I planned. I took his cloak and draped it over myself making sure my face was completely hidden. I took a deep breath and readied myself.

_"... no thoughts  
within her head,  
but thoughts of joy!  
No dreams  
within her heart  
but dreams of love!" _

I had never realized Raoul had been poetic until that moment, but when he had said those words in such a self-deprecating manner, I could not help but take notice. How could the Vicomte I had known be so humble? I still could not believe how blind I had been, how much I had been willing to believe such an obvious mask.

Dreams of love. I had not even realized I had been searching for that. I had merely been searching for freedom. I had merely been looking for a way out of my darkness and loneliness. In all truths, I had thought that I was only taking what I deserved. I had wanted Christine and therefore believed that she was meant to be with me. To go to the ends of the earth for someone had seemed obvious. What had been less obvious to me was the particular someone.

I stepped onto the stage and grinned despite myself. All eyes were on me and they had no idea what was in store for them. The cloak hung low over my face. I knew that once I began to sing, they would realize who I was. I knew for certain that Christine would realize. So, too would Madame Giry realize and I hoped Raoul as well, but I knew that I could captivate the rest of the audience easily.

_Master? _

Passarino - go away!  
For the trap is set and waits for its prey ... 

I heard a gasp and I looked towards Raoul. Good. He _had _realized that it was I. The cloak had a gauze-like quality so that I could see through it. Although not much was clear, I could see him standing stock still facing my direction. I could not see his eyes, and I took a step closer towards him in an effort to see his face clearer.

I was glad that I could still affect him, glad that my voice could still reach him. Though glancing to the audience, I knew they were entranced by my voice as well.

Christine had stiffened. She had noticed my entrance. I wondered how she would warn the Comte. She was staring off to the side. I doubted it was indecision that had her facing away from the Comte because I knew her betrayal was set. I would see it again tonight. The only thing that varied was how she would do so.

_You have come here  
in pursuit of  
your deepest urge,  
in pursuit of  
that wish,  
which till now  
has been silent,   
silent ... _

Singing this song made me remember that conversation. It reminded me of every event that occurred in between. I had been such a different person then that it felt as though it was not my own memory. I was just a third party watching that Raoul and that Phantom talking to each other.

How could things have changed so horribly?

I could not help but think of this as our song though. I had turned the sentiment to some woman because at the time I had still desired Christine. However, this song was wholly made up of Raoul and me. I focused on him even as I stepped towards Christine.

I realized belatedly that everyone had gathered around the edges of the stage also entranced by my voice. I forced myself to look away from Raoul long enough to look out into the audience. They watched raptly.

Why was it so easy to have them accept me when they could not see me? Truly, my face had forced me to live underneath the opera house. Truly, this deformity had denied me of all the love that a child should receive.

_I have brought you,  
that our passions  
may fuse and merge -  
in your mind  
you've already  
succumbed to me  
dropped all defenses  
completely succumbed to me -  
now you are here with me:  
no second thoughts,  
you've decided,  
decided ... _

As I sang the last lines of that verse, I focused all my attention onto Raoul. I needed him to feel as though he had decided. I needed him to remember a time when he had not wanted to kill me. His decision had been one that was the furthest from violence. Violence was not Raoul. I did not want to reconcile the two thoughts. Violence was the Comte and I knew that Raoul did not want to be like him.

I knew my voice had its desired affect when Raoul stared back, and though he could not see my eyes, I stared directly into his. I needed Raoul to realize what was happening. This was not him. This was not the person I had been slowly accepting, and my acceptance was something that could not be earned. It was something that was stolen from me, since I would never willingly give it to anyone.

It was true though. Of all my efforts to ignore him, Raoul had taken my acceptance and I had had no power to take it back.

_Past the point  
of no return -  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played  
till now are at  
an end ...  
Past all thought   
of "if" or "when" -  
no use resisting:   
abandon thought,  
and let the dream  
descend ... _

This night was the point of no return.

All our fates would be decided tonight, and though the meaning had changed since I first said the words, 'the games we've played till now were at an end,' they still rang true. Games. The game with Christine had ended, but this opera and this situation was all a game. It was the Comte's game, and I knew that I had to play it because he had the one prize that I wanted. I would show him though that our lives were not games. Raoul's life was not something that could be changed and torn asunder at a whim.

I would tear him down and show him how much it hurt to be played with.

I watched as Raoul fought against my words. He fought against my voice, and for the moment, I wished he were not so strong. I wished that quality I saw in him when I had seen his scars had faded just a bit. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and I could see him tense noticeably. I could almost see the white of his knuckles, or perhaps that was my imagination.

_What raging fire  
shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire  
unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction  
lies before  
us ...? _

Raoul was fighting, and I had to implement the other portion of my plan. I turned my attention to Christine. I was loathe to do this, but I knew how the Comte would just love my next actions. I drew close to Christine pulled her against me. I allowed my hands to drift across her abdomen and grabbed her hands. She gasped in surprise. This was bold. I allowed my hands to caress her as I sang to her. This close and with the physical contact I could tell that she was affected by me still. I had not sung to her in a while, and it seemed she had been immune to me before only due to constant exposure.

I hated doing this. Touching her was nothing like touching Raoul had been. Though I had not tried, the comparison was still being made.

I looked towards my box seat and saw the Comte glaring in my direction. He was sitting tensely in his seat, but I noticed that his anger was secondary. He was too enthralled with my voice to be completely focused on his adolescent obsession with possessing things and people.

He had considered Raoul to be a pawn. I believed he was using Christine as a pawn as well. I wondered if she realized it herself; however, he had evidently told her about his personal plan when he had not told Raoul.

People were not to be treated as pawns. Once again, I knew that I was no fighter of justice. I did not care about anyone else. I only cared about myself. Okay, myself and Raoul. And I knew that if you were not careful you would always be a pawn to others. I had been a pawn. I had been the Devil's Child. I had been used for people's shock and horror. A mistreated pawn in a circus of freaks.

I had used others too. I was not free from that guilt, but I would raise hell if anyone believed that they could use either Raoul or me as pawns ever again. Not after what we had been through, not after all the remnants of our past followed us wherever we went. We were survivors, and though I had once believed that doing whatever necessary to obtain what I desired was the proper way to live, I had recently realized that when something, when someone finally came who was worth fighting for all the bad deeds in the past would come back.

I did not know if I believed in karma, but it felt as though every bad deed I had ever committed was keeping Raoul and me apart.

I glanced in his direction and I saw that Raoul had managed to step out in the line of sight of the Comte. He was stronger than I had expected. I stepped away from Christine and focused on him again. He froze and looked at me, eyes wide almost in fear.

_Past the point  
of no return,  
the final threshold -  
what warm,   
unspoken secrets  
will we learn?  
Beyond the point  
of no return ... _

I sang to him and only for him. It was the last chance to make him snap out of whatever had happened to change him. I was calling out to him. I wanted him to answer. I pulled at him with my voice and I saw him almost step forward.

My part had ended though.

_You have brought me  
to that moment  
where words run dry,  
to that moment  
where speech  
disappears  
into silence,   
silence ... _

Christine's voice seemed to bring him out of his stupor and I cursed my damnable luck. I did not look away from him though.

Raoul looked relieved, and I realized that I had been doing what I had wanted to avoid. I did not want to coerce Raoul into coming with me. I did not want to force him to do anything he did not want to do. It was… it was just that I did not see any other way. I did not see any other way to make him come to me.

There was one fact I knew: Raoul belonged with me (to me). Because of this one fact, this one truth, I would do anything. Although I _wanted _Raoul to come willingly, if he would not, then I would have to try other means.

It did not mean that I had to like my approach though.

Raoul glanced at the Comte and motioned that I was on stage. He was much too strong willed. The Comte nodded, but I noticed that his attention was elsewhere. Christine was staring at him as she sung. She was very furtive with her glances, but since I was so close, I could tell she and Philippe were looking at each other.

Once again, I took some pleasure knowing that she would be hurt by him after all this was through. It was in their nature, the one they had accepted completely.

_I have come here,  
hardly knowing  
the reason why ...  
In my mind,  
I've already  
imagined our  
bodies entwining   
defenseless and silent -  
and now I am  
here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided ... _

I could see Raoul wondering what the Comte was waiting for. He should have given the signal to kill me by then. 'Shoot to kill.' Raoul did not look too pleased with the delay. Apparently, he wanted me dead really badly.

He glanced at the Comte once more and realization dawned on him. I had wondered when he would notice. The Comte was trapped in the sound of my voice, in the effect of my training with Christine. He was caught in my opera. They all were. That had always been the purpose of my music. The music was meant to act as a sort of cage for people. They needed to know what it felt like for me. They needed to know what being trapped felt like.

In that cage, I could make them feel anything I wanted. I could reach into their very minds and switch on happiness and sadness. I could make them feel pleasure beyond their wildest dreams and I could hurt them, as I had been hurt. It was the only power I really had over others besides having their lives in my hand the moment they stepped into my opera house.

Everyone was watching with avid interest, and I was surprised that Raoul had been able to break out of it. Not that surprised. The map of the scars on his body flashed before my eyes. My opinion of him _had_ been steadily increasing.

_Past the point  
of no return -  
no going back now:  
our passion-play  
has now, at last,  
begun ...  
Past all thought   
of right or wrong -  
one final question:  
how long should we  
two wait, before  
we're one ...? _

It felt wrong to sing this duet with Christine. It felt forced, and though she sang passionately, I knew that she too had begun to fight against my voice.

How would this end? I knew that once this song was over, I would have to act quickly. Christine had motioned to the Comte and he would eventually have to signal people. The guards had been moving. Some sign had been made, but not the 'shoot to kill' sign yet.

_When will the blood  
begin to race  
the sleeping bud  
burst into bloom?  
When will the flames,  
at last, consume  
us ...?   
Past the point  
of no return  
the final threshold -  
the bridge  
is crossed, so stand  
and watch it burn ...  
We've passed the point  
of no return ... _

I pulled Christine against me. I would use her as a shield if I had to, but I knew that I had to keep her close. I knew that she would run away from me, and I needed her to follow through with my plan.

They had used her as bait for me, and I would use her as bait for the Comte and Raoul.

The words of the song had ended, and it was a though time suspended. The last notes from the orchestra hung heavily in the air, and suddenly, words that I knew by heart came to mind. They were the words that had haunted me since that night. Haunted my dreams, my thoughts, my every breath. They were words that I had wanted to hear. Words that I had felt to be freedom.

I let my gaze focus on Raoul.

_Say you'll share with  
me one  
love, one lifetime ...  
Lead me, save me  
from my solitude ...  
Say you want me  
with you,   
here beside you ...  
Anywhere you go  
let me go too -   
Christine  
that's all I ask of ... _

Halfway through the song, I realized I could not say Raoul's name. I could not so openly reveal that I was going through all of this for him. Quickly changing the name, I spoke Christine's name knowing that the Comte would be enraged by it.

When Christine unmasked, I was actually surprised. I had not been paying attention to her, and it did not even cross my mind that she would do something like that. I should have expected it though. She had unmasked me once before. Why would she stop at once?

The gasps and screams of horror sounded the same to my ears. People's reactions were always the same, whether it was at the circus or in the opera house. I grabbed Christine close though she tried to run away. I saw the guards taking aim, and I realized _that_ was the signal.

I looked at her with all the hatred that had been building before glancing at Raoul. I was almost afraid of his reaction. Christine had not reacted well when she first saw my face. I wondered how well he would handle it. I expected the worst, but when I looked at him, he was not screaming or horrified. He looked at me and I could swear that it was my Raoul.

The moment passed though, and he was back to the Vicomte. I looked at him with challenge in my eyes hoping he would follow. This was all done so that he _would_ follow me down to my home.

In a flash of light and smoke, I engaged the trap door. On my way, I cut the safety ropes to the chandelier. I could hear it tinkling unsteadily. Although the destruction of the opera house was not my primary interest, I knew that kidnapping Christine would not be enough to draw the Comte. It may have been, but I wanted to destroy some part of his life as well.

Christine screamed as we fell through the trap. We landed and I shook her roughly.

"Shut up."

She screamed even louder.

I winced, but instead of forcing her to be quiet, I decided the best plan of action for right now would be to get to the lair. I grabbed her arm and began to drag her. She was forced to follow along. I moved so quickly that she had to concentrate on keeping up instead of yelling.

I was thankful for the reprieve.

I had to think. The Comte and Raoul would not be able to find their way by themselves. Perhaps I should have spoken to Madame Giry before tonight. I knew they would find a way down. Madame Giry would think I had gone too far. Just like before when I had kidnapped Raoul, she would reveal my secrets to the Comte. I only had one more secret left and that was the way down to my home. Madame Giry would lead the way or else they would find some other way.

All I knew was that both of them would follow me.

Entering my lair, I grabbed some rope on the way. I hear her gasp and I turn to see at what she was looking. Her gaze was sweeping across the cavern. Oh, I had forgotten about how differently it looked now. The swan bed was gone, so too were her mannequin and the paintings. There were even less candles lit. I had not needed the light.

Finally realizing that I had been watching her, she screamed once more and tried to pull herself away. I held onto her wrist tighter and yanked her to me.

"Philippe will come and save me," she bravely (or stupidly) replied.

"You've had the opportunity to betray me quite a few times now," I spoke angrily at her. I towered over her small frame.

She cowered and I enjoyed the sight.

"… and you've gladly taken those opportunities, haven't you?"

She tugged at her arm replying, "I know you don't want me anymore."

I laughed, and it was a maniacal sound. I grinned maliciously, "Well, shall I give you a prize for figuring that out?"

I turned us around showing her once more how bare it was.

She glared at me. "Philippe _will_ come."

"Oh I am planning on it," I responded, "I am rather hoping he will."

I had reached my breaking point. They had taken everything from me. They had taken Raoul.

I bound Christine's hands and tossed up the loose end on a rock protrusion overhead. Tying off the loose end I made certain Christine was uncomfortable. I pulled it high enough so that she was forced to stand on her toes. She was a ballet dancer, so I knew it would not be too uncomfortable. I considered pulling the rope up so that she could not touch the floor at all, but I did not want her to pass out from the pain if her shoulders dislocated. I wanted her to see when I left her.

I released her temporarily. She struggled and I watched to see if she could free herself. She could not get the proper leverage. I took a step back and looked at her for a moment.

She was growling and hissing at me in fury. It was quite the animalistic response. "Let me go you monster!"

"Monster? What happened to your Angel of Music," I mocked her.

I could not waste too much attention on her though. Once she was tied up, I had to worry about the Comte and Raoul. Hopefully, I would be able to convince Raoul not to attack me. Then, I could subdue the Comte, tie him and Christine to a heavy stone, and drop them into the lake never to be found again. Though that would be nice, I had to remind myself that killing them was not priority. I would subdue them both, and take Raoul. Where we will go, they will never find us.

"Let me go." She screamed in pain.

"We are waiting for our guests," I replied, "Do not be impatient."

"Let me…"

I clasped my hand over her mouth.

"Shhh! Listen."

"Christine! Christine!" The Comte came barging in through a side passageway. He had come down the stairs then. I waited a moment before wondering where Raoul was. Surely, he came down as well. I thought for certain he would. Well, even if he had not, this would make it easier. I would only have to worry about the Comte. After I was done with him, I could search for Raoul.

"Welcome, Comte," I gestured to my home, "to my humble abode."

The Comte grinned, "Opera Ghost. I appreciate the invitation."

"This is indeed an unparalleled delight. I had rather hoped you would come."

He nodded, "I had rather hoped to be here in fact. You will truly make my night."

"We have unfinished business. Do we not?" I did not like his cocky attitude. I would wipe that smirk from his face. I moved closer to Christine.

"Indeed we do." His eyes narrowed seeing me move towards her.

I allowed my hands to drift to Christine's midsection. She squirmed and tried to move away, but to no avail. Once again, my mind compared the two. It was nothing like touching Raoul, but I wanted to anger the Comte. I had already learned that he did not like others to touch things he thought were his. I purposefully let my hands linger. "Have you had our prima donna yet?"

The Comte glared at me.

"Just petting?" I laughed at him loudly. "Even I have petted her Comte. Do not tell me you have not been able to do more."

"Release her you monster." Apparently, I had hit a nerve.

He pulled his sword and lunged at me. I dodged it easily and kicked him aside.

Christine screamed, "Philippe be careful."

He glared at her momentarily before pulling out a pistol. He turned towards me angrily but I had already seen him reaching for it. In his lunge, I had seen it tucked into his belt. It was not a good sign, but before he could properly turn around, I knocked the gun away from him. He swung at me with his fist and ran towards the pistol. I pulled him away and threw him against the wall. He staggered and stood up holding his sword ready. At least he had given up on the pistol. I myself did not appreciate that weapon. It was a dishonourable way to fight. I thought that there was more skill in sword combat.

"I even believe the Vicomte was able to pet her."

Christine screamed, "That's not true."

He tried to attack me again, but he was still unsteady from hitting the wall. I easily dodged it.

"I'm certain there was a certain fan as well."

He was furious, "I will destroy you."

"As if you could," I dared.

If I knew anything, anger made for poor fighting. There were some times when anger helped, but thanks to some exaggerations, the Comte was reaching blind rage. He was looking for the kill more often than his own defense. Not only that though, he was at a disadvantage. The light was meager. He was still slightly disoriented and tripped over stones stumbling on the rocky terrain. He was in my territory.

After a series of failed swipes of the sword, he lunged at me again and this time I tripped him. He fell ungracefully to the floor, and I quickly grabbed my Punjab lasso tightening it around his neck. Kneeling on his back, I tied his arms behind his back much how a swine would be tied.

"Oh," I laughed at his struggling, "I had expected much more from you. What a shame."

I paused momentarily hearing a splash of water. Someone was crossing the lake.

"Release him!"

The voice caught my attention immediately. I quickly finished tying him up and tossed him easily to the side. I waited a moment to compose myself.

I turned around and looking at him, I knew right away what had happened to him. He had fallen into the water trap. I was glad he had survived but was even angrier with the Comte for having left him there. I had wondered how he was able to bypass the trap on that stairwell.

I eyed the Comte before turning to face Raoul again. I knew that the Comte already knew that I wanted Raoul. I wondered if he knew just how much I wanted him.

"Vicomte," I said no mocking in my tone. "I'm so glad you could make it."

He grasped the portcullis when Christine whimpered and the Comte moaned.

"Free them. Do what you like only free them!" He yelled.

I was not ready for this. I could not attack him, but he probably would not let me near him unless we were battling. I would have to subdue him without harming him. He was not making this easy on me.

He ordered, "Let me see them."

I paused for a moment wondering at the change of tone. I glanced at the two behind me. Christine was still hanging and the Comte trying and failing to loosen his ropes. I looked towards Raoul thinking this would be the perfect opportunity to capture him.

"Be my guest sir," I replied before pulling a lever. The portcullis shuddered and slowly lifted up.

He ducked under the gate and walked warily towards us. He paused a short distance away. He was being cautious. He glanced between me and the other two.

I stalked towards him, "It seems we have a full house tonight, do we not?"

"Free them," he stated calmly.

"A lot has happened," I continued as though he had not said anything. Just a little closer and I would be able to reach the rope beneath the surface of the water. I had to time this correctly, "I could free them, but," I slowly bent down and reached into the water. The noise of the portcullis dropping behind him caused Raoul to turn around. The moment he did, I grabbed the rope and threw it around his neck. I did not plan to choke him, but it was a start. He threw up his hand quickly and the lasso fell around his shoulders. Even better, I thought. He had quick reflexes. I tied him up quickly. I used all my strength to overpower him. The sooner he was tied up, the sooner I would be able to convince him to stop trying to kill me. I could appreciate the feel of his body against mine later. "Why would I want to free them when I could just capture you all?"

I wrapped the rope around his arms and torso and threw him against the portcullis. He was struggling rather valiantly. I had not realized he was that strong. He struggled harder causing our bodies to collide against each other repeatedly, and I thought I was going to go mad. I held onto him tighter. I was mindful of the scars though. I tried to avoid them the best I could, but he was moving so much. I was certain I had accidentally bumped a few of his wounds.

"Release me!" He screamed. With him so close, I did not even consider that to be an option. I had released him too many times before. I would not make the same mistake again.

I whispered hoarsely, "Never," in his ear and he suddenly stopped struggling. He looked surprised.

I looked behind me to check on the other two and saw that they were free from their bonds. I screamed, "You wretched woman you!"

Christine was in the Comte's arms. There was no way that the Comte could have freed himself from his bonds, so that meant that Christine had been faking pain. She had gotten out of her ropes and proceeded to free the Comte. I wanted to physically harm her, very painfully. I stalked towards them with half a mind to do just that, but the Comte held up his hands in supplication.

"Perhaps we should make a deal."

I paused. What deal could the Comte make that would interest me at all. I asked warily, "What deal?"

"Free us," he motioned to himself and Christine, "and do what you like with _him_," he pointed to Raoul. I glared at him and saw Raoul doing the same. "We will never return."

I already had Raoul. Why did the Comte think he could bargain with him? I realized what I was doing again. I was putting Raoul second. I was letting my anger get the better of me. All I had wanted when the plan started was to get Raoul. I did not care what happened to the Comte or Christine as long as they were out of the way. This was what he was offering. I did not think I could believe them when they said they would never return, but I just needed a few minutes before I would be gone with Raoul in tow forever.

I glanced at Raoul. He was worth the risk.

"Go and never return," I said plainly pointing to a passageway. I watched them as they left. Waiting a few moments, I made certain they were not returning.

Turning to Raoul, I smiled. I could not help it. We were finally alone, and I was no longer at war with myself. I wanted him and I was going to take him. This was my chance.

"Raoul," I called to him relieved that it was all over. The Comte and Christine were gone. The plan had worked.

I looked at him and realized the plan was not over. This ordeal was not through. Raoul was not Raoul. He was the Vicomte. He was still the man who wanted to kill me. All my energy seemed to dissipate. So close, yet so far. I was so tired of this struggle. I was so tired of fighting with him. I walked to his side and raised my hand to touch him. He tensed at the contact, but it was not as though there was something he could do to stop me. I rested the palm of my hand on his cheek and knew that I would do everything I could to fight for him. I sighed at the contact.

I dropped my head beside his leaning against the portcullis. I would do anything and everything. I had reached this part of the plan, but I had not actually thought of the specifics of returning my Raoul to himself. "I don't know what to do."

I gently stroked his cheek with my thumb almost losing myself to the feeling of being able to touch him once more. My fingers brushed a part of his hair, and I remembered I could not enjoy this. I still had to do something about his desire to kill me.

There was only one thing left to do. I sighed and forced myself away from him.

"You still want to kill me," I stated more as a fact than a question.

He nodded his head hesitantly.

I nodded my head too. Of course, he wanted to kill me. I left his side and searched around for my sword. I would have to fight him. We would let fate decide. Fate had decided many things for me already. Why not this too? Finding my sword, I returned and steadied my mind. I would not harm him, but I could not deny Raoul what he wanted. I could never deny him. I swung in an easy arc cutting the ropes from him. He had closed his eyes certain that I was going to kill him.

As the ropes fell into the water, he opened his eyes in confusion.

I met his gaze evenly and with more than a little bit of sadness said, "Let us see how cruel fate can be. Come."

He pulled his sword out of its sheath quickly. Apparently, he did not think I would be benevolent for very much longer. I wanted to yell in frustration. Did he have to look so damn excited when he was going to try to kill me? He stood confidently before quickly lunging to my right side. I could only assume he thought it would be my weaker side since that was the last place he had attacked me last time as well. The wound had healed well enough.

I parried his lunge and stepped away. He was quick, but in the water, it was easy to anticipate his attacks.

He swung towards my head then torso in quick succession, but I easily blocked it. He finally realized that the water was not making it any easier for him. He maneuvered his way onto the dry land.

He was so focused on killing me. I did not know how to react.

I decided to try to speak with him, talk some sense into him somehow. "Raoul."

He ignored my call. He was concentrating, which basically involved him glaring angrily at me. I held my sword ready for the next round of attacks. Perhaps there was another way to go about this. He lunged and swung viciously at me. I managed to stay just outside of his reach and what was close, I blocked. He was getting frustrated that he could not hit me. There was another way. The Comte had lost his concentration when I angered him. I would just have to anger Raoul, and if in the process, I could remind him who he really was, then that was just a bonus.

"Are you truly that weak?"

That caught his attention.

"Weak?" He scoffed.

I kept my tone neutral. I did not want him to think I was just mocking him. I wanted him to know that by allowing himself to be this way, he was being weak. He was losing the battle I thought he had already fought and won. He had not turned out badly as I had. He had somehow survived.

Raoul looked confused. He was not ready to talk to me just yet.

I continued, "Were you so weak to give up that easily?"

He angrily charged me. He swiped at every body part he could: arm, leg, torso. Repeat. Arm, leg, head. Every time he attacked, I dodged. Every time I dodged, he plunged forward. Every time I parried, he attacked a different body part. He could hit nothing though. It was easier to defend, and Raoul was getting frustrated and therefore sloppy.

"How could you let Philippe win?" I knew I was gaining purchase.

He glared at me again. "What are you talking about?" He swung his sword down towards my head. I blocked it, and though he tried to force my sword down I held firm.

"You're just like him."

He faltered. I could see that some part of him remembered thinking that was bad. It was the part I was trying to reach. "Good," he gritted out. He pulled back.

"No," I tried to convince him, "you didn't want to be like him."

Raoul finally screamed in frustration before attacking me again. I sidestepped a lunge and grabbed his arm. Stepping behind him, I grabbed him in a bear hug effectively immobilizing his arms. He wiggled but I was not going to let him go. I could finally talk some sense into him. I could finally make him see what was happening to him. Though I did not want to do it, I had to remind him how evil the Comte really was.

He stopped struggling and responded, "How would you know that?"

"I just do," I replied. He struggled more.

"Let me go," he begged. I could tell his barriers were falling.

I hugged him tighter and mentally apologized to him. I did not know if this would work, but if he responded so adversely to pressure being put on the scars on his back before, I could hope that whatever memory it triggered would remind him how much the Comte was malicious. I could hope that it reminded him of what that man had put him through. There was nothing of the Comte's that Raoul should want to emulate.

I felt more than heard him gasp in pain. His body tensed in my grasp and I loosed my hold on him. He was breathing heavily and I wondered if he was going to have another attack like before. The sword fell from his hands and his legs buckled. I tried to carry his weight, but I was slow to react. I lost my balance and had to release him to break our fall.

I landed on the floor uncomfortably trying to avoid landing on Raoul. He skidded away from me. I slowly stood up thinking that it was over; that Raoul had dropped his sword because he remembered the pain the Comte had put him through. I thought that his scars had somehow saved us, but when I looked at him. He was lying perfectly still, yet his body was completely tense.

He clenched his eyes shut, and I could tell he was in pain. I just did not know why. He was lying on his side. There was no more pressure on his back. Did he hurt himself when we fell?

"Raoul," I spoke softly trying not to scare him, "what's wrong?"

He ignored me, but he looked so afraid. It appeared that he did not understand what was happening either.

I knelt beside him and checked to see if there was any blood. There wasn't. I was about to panic. What was I supposed to do? I did not know what was wrong with him. I was just about to yell at myself for my stupidity when Raoul spoke.

"Hurts." He had struggled to get that one word out. It did not help very much since I could tell that he was in pain, but at least I knew he was still with me.

I looked up quickly thinking that I had heard a noise. It must have been my imagination.

I heard Raoul take a deep breath in and hold it. I looked around for something that might help me.

"You aren't," he began suddenly and painfully, "going to kill me now, are you?"

I looked down at him surprised. I could feel my lips upturning slightly before I scoffed just as I had before. I placed a hand on his forehead, just because I could and replied, "Does it look like I'm going to kill you?"

"Should," he gasped as the pain and I tensed up. Maybe he should not be talking, "Should I know what that's supposed to look like?"

He grinned up at me then and it felt like we had gone back in time. There were a million things wrong with having this conversation right now. He was supposed to be trying to kill me. I was supposed to be finding a way to make him remember himself. He was not supposed to be in excruciating pain. I really did not know why we were saying these things. But of all the things he had done since our last meeting, this was the only thing that felt so right, felt familiar. It was the only thing that made me really believed that I could turn him.

"You'll know," I responded.

And suddenly Raoul relaxed. He took a deep breath and pushed himself away from me. I looked at me warily. It may have felt familiar, but this was still the Vicomte. I had a new resolve though. I just knew fate would be on my side this time.

Standing up, I grabbed both our swords and offered him his. He forced himself to stand. I could just picture him in my shirt, standing on legs that were too weak. He had been willful then, and was willful now. A barrage of memories seemed to attack me. This would work. We would fight some more and Raoul would somehow come back to himself.

"Shall we continue?" I asked. This had to work.

He tentatively grabbed his sword. He stood there with the sword tip pointed downward just thinking. He looked conflicted. That was a good sign.

He looked up at me and unexpectedly asked, "You've been doing all of this for me?"

The answer to that was obvious. Why would I trade both the Comte and Christine for him? I wanted him. I nodded and answered, "Of course."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. Maybe I had not made my intentions clear. After all I had gone through for him though, how could he not see it? "Why?" he asked.

I considered the question for a moment. I could not say because I love you, because I find myself drawn to you. That would only frighten him away. He had not even realized I had gone through all of this because of him. I could not just say those things. He looked at me expectantly. "Because," I knew exactly how to answer that conveyed everything I wanted him to know, "you told me to stay."

He stepped closer to me letting his sword drop to the ground. Was that all I needed to say? Raoul looked a little confused still as though it took so much effort to find that memory. I could easily conjure up the moment when he told me to stay. I could hope this was it, couldn't I?

As he got closer, he looked at me as though for the first time and said, "Erik?"

He said my name. It was as though all of my doubts had been assuaged. He had not called me OG or Phantom. He had called me by my name. I dropped my sword and was about to go to him when a sharp pain spiked in my head. I fought to keep my balance, but my vision was suddenly blacking out. I felt myself falling forward onto Raoul. I breathed in his scent before I was placed onto the floor.

It was so hard to stay awake. I could hear voices, but they sounded so far away. I tried to focus, but I could not. I managed to find Raoul, and before my vision failed me completely and I lost consciousness, I wondered why Raoul was holding the pistol.

o.o.o

o.o.o.o

End ch22

word count: 13,316

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Ahh!

Let's see, nothing happened here that you didn't see in the previous chapter. Oh, except for the Comte and the Christine part. All I can say is that I can't wait for the next chapter (I almost don't want to proofread this because of that excitement, but I guess I'll have to).


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. A Death.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: Special last chapter (not counting the epilogue)  
This one has a mixture of different POV's in one, so watch who's talking. I know you all want to know what happens anyway, a little more effort won't hurt. Oh, and remember that this is not going to end the way you want it to.

Author note: Thanks for all those who have read this. It's been one hell of a ride, right?

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 23

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o

Last time:

Raoul's POV

I mentally rolled my eyes. Of course, he would leave me behind. "Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Oh," Philippe started to drag Erik away. "We should get going before the mob gets here. Help me out."

"No," I watched as Philippe tried to drag him away, "I want to know why you did not shoot him."

"I have other plans for him."

I scowled, "This was not part of the plan."

He shrugged. "It was not part of your plan. Plans change. Christine is waiting with the boat. We have to hurry."

"Give me the gun," I ordered, "It's not going to end like this."

Philippe outright laughed. "So that you can do what? Kill our ticket to fame? Now stop complaining and help me drag him."

I leaned forward pretending to grab Erik's arm and as Philippe grabbed his other arm, I lunged forward and knocked the gun from his grasp. I chased it down. It was not going to end like this. We had all had plans: Erik, me, Christine, and Philippe. I was tired of plans changing. I was tired of people changing. I was tired of change. I carefully aimed and fired.

The sound echoed loudly through the cavern.

o.o.o

Erik's POV.

What was this darkness?

This cold permeating darkness. Where was I? It was so dark I could hardly tell if my eyes were open or closed. I was seemingly suspended in air. I could not turn around or move. Or if I were moving, I could not tell the difference.

I remembered this darkness. Desperation, was it not? It felt different though. I no longer felt despair. By all accounts, I should probably be despairing by now, but I was not. This was a dream. I had had this dream before. There had been a beam of light and then I had been somewhere else. I looked around. It was a beam of light. There was no way that I could miss it.

After a while without seeing anything, I began to worry. Perhaps this was no dream. Perhaps I was dead. I laughed. I laughed maniacally even though there was no sound in this place. Was this hell? Purgatory? Was I to be trapped in darkness for all of eternity apart from everyone from everything?

I had been so close, been so close to having everything. Raoul had called my name, and I had actually thought things would turn out well. I laughed harder before the frustration and anger built up so strong within me that I was screaming. I was screaming in this silent vacuum and I wished I could hear the desolate sound of my madness.

It was then that I saw something. Ahead of me, a small flicker. It was no beam of light, but it was better than the nothing I had been seeing for what felt to be a while.

I willed myself to move closer. Instead of shining brighter, I noticed that it began to flicker unsteadily. It looked to be a candle with no candle, but a flame. I wondered how I was able to see it from such a distance. I wondered how the light was not just eaten by this darkness. I reached out to it, this fragile flame, and the cold I had been feeling seemed to vanish. It was suddenly warm. My hand kept reaching out of its own volition. I knew that I should stop or else I would be burned, but I could not help but be drawn by this light.

The moment my finger touched the flame, the light burst in the darkness blinding me for a few moments.

_That was odd. He wondered why he had suddenly felt dizzy._

_Shaking his head, he stared at his face in awe. Whenever he looked in the mirror, it was the same thing. He could not believe who looked back. He reached a hand up to slowly rub his now unmarred cheek. There was no deformity. He had not had one in a long time, but still he could not believe it. His face was perfect. Could fate really be this kind to him? This face never had to wear a mask. _

_No one stared in horror. They stared for other reasons now. Reasons that should have made him feel proud, but he could not bring himself to feel that. He could not bring himself to look at others without judging them. _

_Inevitably, whenever he saw anyone the thought would come unbidden, 'he would have paid to see a monster' or 'she would have screamed in fright.' In his mind, it was certain that everyone would have sent or joined a mob to kill him._

_It had been so many years that he had been accepted into mainstream society but he could not fully be a part of them. He had yet to become close to anyone. Still, it surprised him that no matter how much he wanted to be alone, people would crowd about him. He would be dismissive, but he could not be completely rude. He remembered what uncaring and thoughtless actions produced. He remembered the life on the receiving end of those actions all too well. However, people mistook what civility he showed everyone as an invitation to be around him. He often longed for the times when people had shunned him because the loneliness he felt now amongst the throng of people was worse. It was worse to be surrounded by people who knew nothing about you and did not really want to know you. _

_Still he searched. He desperately scoured the world for that one person. He had been searching for so long now that he felt lost. He felt as though it had all been in vain. He had promised though. He had sworn to find that one person who would understand him. That one person who would see past the surface and tell him that it was okay to be who he was. Was it so hard to ask? _

_He would go out again today. He would walk the streets ignoring the looks people gave him, ignoring the suggestive glances from the women, and the glares from the men. He would look for that certain face that he could never forget. He would search because he had to. He needed this one thing and it was all that mattered. That person was all that mattered._

_He wondered so often how much longer. Where was he?_

_How much longer could he stand this separation? How much longer was he to atone for his past sins? Of all the things he desired, the one thing he wanted he had not been able to find. _

_Where was Raoul?_

I reached towards the mirror recognizing the desperation on his face, on my face. Instead of touching the cool solid glass as I had thought, my hand fell through and suddenly I was rolling on the hard floor of the Opera Populaire roof.

Disoriented for a moment, I shakily stood up and leaned against a statue. Turning around, as I expected, it was the horse statue. How many times would I have to see this scene? How many times would I hate myself for not being able to reach Raoul in time?

I closed my eyes and listened to the words I knew by heart.

Raoul's voice filled the air and it seemed to thrum with a vibrancy that was wholly Raoul.

_Say you'll share with  
me one  
love, one lifetime ..._

One love, one lifetime. Did we only get one chance at it? Was it fair if it was all one sided?

_Lead me, save me  
from my solitude ..._

Those were not the lines. Those were my lines. They were the words I sang during the night of Don Juan Triumphant. I opened my eyes in shock and leaned around the horse statue to see what was happening.

_Say you want me  
with you,  
here beside you ...  
Anywhere you go  
let me go too – _

Raoul was alone. In fact, he was staring directly at me. I looked around in confusion. Where was Christine? This was not how it happened. I knew it to be a dream, but the dream never changed this much. It never changed history.

I looked back at Raoul. I could not deny that it looked as though Raoul were singing to me. To me?

_Erik  
that's all I ask of you._

Raoul took a step forward, and though everything in me told me to step forward as well, I was suddenly filled with uncertainty. I wondered if this was really Raoul, if this was really a dream. Even my dreams had never been kind to me. I involuntarily took a step back as he stepped forward once more and suddenly I was plummeting backwards.

He looked hurt and then I could see the fear in his eyes. I reached out to him realizing how stupid I had been to even for a moment doubt him.

"Erik!" He screamed out and I saw him reaching towards me.

My hand was so close to reaching him before he faded away and I was falling.

I screamed and shot up. I grabbed my head in agony before dropping back onto the hard floor. My head throbbed painfully. I opened my eyes slowly. I was in my home… alone. I sat up once more and though I was a little dizzy, I managed to stay up.

Why was I lying on the floor? More importantly, what had happened to everyone else? The last I remembered was… was Raoul holding a pistol. I forced myself to stand up. What had happened? I could guess that the Comte had been the one to return. I could guess that he had been the one who had hit me, but I would think he would come to finish the job. I would think that death would have taken me by now.

If Raoul had somehow saved me from him, then it meant that he was definitely back. My Raoul was back. If he was back, then I could not understand why I was alone.

I forced myself into a standing position. The room spun momentarily before righting itself.

Nothing was making sense right now, and this headache was not helping. I looked around but everything seemed to be in place. How had I been left unharmed even though I had been unconscious? Not only had there been the Comte, but I had heard sounds of a mob coming down as well.

There was nothing I could do here. I could not just stand and do nothing. I looked around for my mask, but I could find it nowhere. I was too frustrated to search for very much longer.

I made my way to the theatre. I was cautious, but it proved to be unnecessary. The opera house was completely empty. The chandelier was partly on the stage, in the orchestra pit, and shattered across the front row seats. The walls were burnt, seats damaged irreparably, and ground I walked upon was littered with debris from statues, fixtures, and chairs alike. I could not tell them apart.

It was sometime in the evening. The moon shone brightly, and I could hear carriages still moving outside. I could not believe that I had been unconscious for an entire day. I could not believe that I had remained unscathed. The opera house looked stripped of everything that may have survived. That meant the mob had indeed been here. How could they have not found me? Surely, the guards would have stopped at nothing to find me. I would have to just thank whatever luck was with me.

I walked through the hallways I could, but there were parts I could not reach. Everywhere I went, there was emptiness. It was the first time I had been able to walk freely in the opera house without a mask. It was the first time I had ever seen the Opera Populaire seem so… dead.

It was to be my fate as well, was it not? Raoul may have spared my life, but it seemed apparent that he did not feel the same I felt towards him. I could search for him. I could leave this dead place and search for that him hoping that I could take him and make him love me. There was nothing ensuring I would not be left alone again, but at least I would be able to see him again. I could try to take him.

I could try, but seeing my opera house in this state, it felt as though I too was dead. I too had been emptied and all hope and strength had been burned from me.

I returned to the stage to look one last time. I did not know where I was going. I could stay here and hope that I find some reason to live, some reason to fight for survival or I could leave and look for the life I wanted with Raoul. I doubted either would prove fruitful.

Standing on the stage where I had sang our song, I felt nothing but despair. A sharp intake of breath alerted me of someone else's presence. I turned around and there before me stood Christine.

I stared at her uncertain how to respond.

She looked just as surprised as I was. "Phantom."

I wanted to kill her. I wanted to drag her down into the despair I felt, but I could see she was quite desperate herself.

"You're well," she said taking a step closer to me.

I did not respond, but I did not move away from her. She looked worn, tired. She was holding a statue that had somehow survived the destruction. It dawned on me that she was pillaging the opera house. I managed to keep my smirk hidden. The Comte had surely left her.

"I was so-so…,"

While she searched for a proper word, I supplied my own, "Betrayed?"

She stepped back as though I had physically hit her.

"I had to," she defensively replied, "They all left."

I did not know what she was referring to. Of course, they had all left. The opera house had been burnt. I was surprised it was still standing.

She continued, "The Chagny's. They all disappeared. The estate has been emptied. It's like they had never been there to begin with."

So, she had been betrayed. Not only betrayed but left behind to fend for herself.

I turned away from her. I would kill her if she remained longer. I did not want to be around anyone. I did not want to see anyone. I only wanted to remain in this empty opera house and waste away along with it. She had said it herself. The Chagny's had fled. They could be anywhere by now. _He_ could be anywhere.

"Phantom," she called and grabbed my arm. Did she not learn anything the last time she tried this? I glared at her and she released my arm immediately. She stepped back slowly but remained standing there staring at me, "we can go. We can find another opera house. You…" she faltered when I gave her no response, "you can tutor me again."

I stared at her. She had betrayed me, and she wanted me to go along with her. She wanted me to leave this opera house and once again be her angel of music. Was she insane?

I grabbed her ready to physically remove her from the opera house until I realized that this was my last chance. This was it. This was my last chance to be free of this place.

I looked at her and tried to remember what it felt like to be obsessed with her. There was nothing there, but she was offering me something I could not get here. She was offering me some sort of life. I would not fall for her lies, but I could find a way to use her as well.

The only question that remained in my mind was whether I deserved any type of life. I released her and nodded slowly. "Let's go."

She smiled brightly at me, and I felt a little sick. What was I doing? What happened to the clarity I had found so long ago? What happened to the hope of finding someone that would accept me as I was? I was giving it all away so that I could survive. It was all about survival. Forget about clarity.

Clarity.

"Let's go," she turned to leave.

I stopped her, "I cannot leave just yet."

She looked at me confused. Looking outside, she commented, "It's quite dark right now. Just cover your face with some cloak and you'll be fine."

I shook my head. "I'll meet you outside at midnight."

She shrugged but agreed nonetheless. "Midnight then, Angel."

She scurried out of the building presumably to make some arrangements.

I went down to my home one last time to grab a cloak. I did need to cover up my face if I was going to leave. I looked if there was anything else I would like to bring, but there was nothing. I had nothing worthwhile. There was my organ, but it was not as though I could bring it. I hardly felt like playing anymore.

There was only one last place to stop by. It was the reason I told Christine to meet me later. I had promised myself that I would return to the roof. I had found clarity there once, and though I had turned my back on it, I would return.

As I made my way to the roof, I could not help but feel as though everything had been in my grasp and it had all slipped away.

It was over. My opera was done. I had gotten Christine like I had initially planned.

I opened the door knowing that the clarity I had once felt would not be there. _I_ had to be here though. I had to visit the roof when everything was done. It was done now, wasn't it?

I opened the door not quite expecting anything. What I had absolutely not expected was someone standing on the ledge next to the winged angel looking out at the city. The form was visible as the light from moon bathed him, and my breath caught in my throat as I thought that Raoul had never appeared so radiant as he did right now.

o.o.o

Raoul's POV

I heard the door open and the sharp intake of breath told me he had seen me. I knew he would come here eventually. This was where it all started and it was fitting that this was where it would end. I stared at the Paris skyline.

I had been standing here for a while. I spent most of the day on the roof. I had had a lot to think about.

I had been so tired. I had sat on the floor leaning against the ledge just waiting. I knew that I should have been down in the cellar waiting for Erik to wake up, but I could hardly stand to be in that place. I did not know what to say to him. He had practically confessed his feelings for me. No one person would go through all of that for anything less than love. I should have been happy. I was happy, but what could I say to him? What was I supposed to say to him? I did want to tell him I loved him back, but what did I really know about him? What did he know about me?

I knew his secrets and he knew mine. Our deepest darkest secrets were everything but secrets between us. 'What next' plagued me though? I just did not know. All I knew was that I felt suffocated even though I was outside. Once the sun had gone down, I stepped onto the ledge needing to be a little further from the theatre but not being able to leave it completely. There was a slight breeze. It had helped me breathe. It had calmed me, and so there I stood holding onto the wing of this stone angel just trying to breathe.

What was the point of it all? I did not know what I was struggling for and for whom. I was so confused. The scary part was that these past few weeks, I had _not_ been confused. I had been so certain, so sure of what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to kill the Opera Ghost. I was supposed to be the perfect Vicomte and do everything right. It had been so clear to me.

Now, I knew that it was all false. That was not what I was supposed to do. That was not who I was supposed to be, but it had been easy. It had been so much easier being told what was right and how to act. At the moment that Philippe had started to drag Erik out, I just knew I could not do it anymore. Because of Erik, I had had some sense about me, but I had been tempted to just forget about him. I had been tempted to let myself become like Philippe. He had been right after all. I was weak. I wanted to give in. I could not let him take Erik though. I could not let him do that to him. Erik did not deserve it. No one deserved that fate.

As a result of that, I was back to being confused. Losing touch of everything I thought I had known was frightening. I had crashed and burned. I had… I scoffed at the phrase that came to mind. I had come to the point of no return. Hell, I _had_ gone past it. For a moment, I wished I was in that darkness again – the one that both comforted and scared me. It was cold in that darkness, but I could not help but feel numb right now. Was there a difference? At least I could escape from everything in that darkness for a while. If I could just separate myself momentarily and get a good look at what was happening, it would be better. I could see it from a distance and know what the next step was.

I could figure out why I felt so alone, abandoned, and forgotten when I had been the one to actively choose that fate. I could maybe learn what existence really was. I was here, but I felt so far away. I felt so disjointed; so lost on the moment. I was everywhere but here yet nowhere but here. Why was it so confusing?

"Raoul," I heard him whisper almost reverently. I did not respond. I could hear him walk closer to me. He had gone through hell for me. It was odd to think that he returned my feelings. I knew he did now and felt relieved. That knowledge did not fix everything. It did not fix me.

"Raoul." This time it was stronger.

Once again, he spoke to me as though I were a skittish wild animal. Did I look to be that fragile? I laughed silently to myself. I was that fragile, wasn't I? I had already broken once. I had barely been able to pull myself together in time.

I had saved him though. I had done something good.

"You…" he sounded surprised, "What are you doing here?"

I turned to face him, a self-deprecating smile in place, "Me and cellars don't work well together."

I noticed him grimace. I wondered if he had understood what I was referring to. I had never told him about what Philippe had done to me. Maybe he was thinking about what had just occurred. That battle in his home was nothing. Though if I thought about it long enough, what Philippe had done to me was nothing as well. It was all in the past. It was something that could not be changed. There was no need for him to worry.

"It's nothing. I just needed air," turning away from him, I took a deep breath looking out over the city again, "and the view is amazing here."

He did not know what to say, and I did not feel like breaking the silence. I listened to the wind as it brushed past me. I sighed. Too bad directly beneath me lay the remnants of a once beautiful opera house.

He walked closer to me. The gravel crunched beneath his feet. "This place was the only bit of freedom I had."

I glanced over my shoulder at him and smiled in understanding. "I know the feeling."

He nodded, and I knew he understood. He probably understood all too well after everything that had happened.

We spoke at the same time.

"I thought you had left." "I noticed that you redecorated."

We both paused. He motioned for me to go ahead even though his statement seemed more important.

I repeated anyway, "I noticed that you redecorated your home." I had been so concentrated on Erik, Philippe, and Christine that it was not until all that frenzied activity had died down that I realized Erik's home seemed so empty. There was nothing that reminded me of Christine, unlike before.

He reached the ledge I stood upon and leaned his arms against it, "It had been pointless keeping all those memories of her." He glanced up at me, but I refused to look. "I wanted nothing to do with her."

I laughed. "I know that feeling too."

He looked at the city, "I thought you had left."

I sighed. "No."

He waited a moment expecting more, but what else could I say? There was nowhere else I could be.

"I'm right here."

He nodded. He reached out tentatively as though I were a ghost myself. He touched my calf and the relief I saw on his face uplifted my spirit. He let his hand drop, slowly brushing my leg until his arm was back on the ledge.

"What happened?" He finally asked his voice a little less heavy.

I was wondering the same thing, but I knew that was not what he meant. I told him what happened after he had been hit.

o.o.o (Raoul's POV flashback.) o.o.o

Erik looked relieved and dropped his own sword. He took a step towards me before suddenly lurching forward. He fell onto me and I unsteadily placed him on the floor. Philippe stood behind him with a triumphant grin on his face. He held the gun in his hand.

"Philippe!" I looked at Erik's form. He was still breathing. There was no blood and I had heard no gunshot.

"Hello Raoul. You did not think I would leave you behind, did you?"

I mentally rolled my eyes. Of course, he would leave me behind. "Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Oh," Philippe started to drag Erik away. "We should get going before the mob gets here. Help me out."

"No," I watched as Philippe tried to drag him away, "I want to know why you did not shoot him."

"I have other plans for him."

I scowled, "This was not part of the plan."

He shrugged. "It was not part of your plan. Plans change. Christine is waiting with the boat. We have to hurry."

"Give me the gun," I ordered, "It's not going to end like this."

Philippe outright laughed. "So that you can do what? Kill our ticket to fame? Now stop complaining and help me drag him."

I leaned forward pretending to grab Erik's arm and as Philippe grabbed his other arm, I lunged forward and knocked the gun from his grasp. I chased it down. It was not going to end like this. We had all had plans: Erik, me, Christine, and Philippe. I was tired of plans changing. I was tired of people changing. I was tired of change. I carefully aimed and fired.

The sound echoed loudly through the cavern.

Philippe looked at me in shock. Erik lay on the floor unharmed and Philippe had moved some distance away from him. I looked at the man who was supposed to be my brother as he cowered. I had aimed near him, but not at him. I could not kill him.

Seeing him smirk at me, I changed that thought. I could kill him, but I did not want to.

"What are you doing?" He asked looking between me and Erik.

I kept the pistol aimed at him, "That is the only warning I'm going to give you."

He looked at me warily. "Brother…"

"Don't 'brother' me," I spat back. "Leave and never return. In fact, leave Paris altogether."

I saw him glancing at Erik.

He began to back away, "The mob will get you."

"Which is why you will be going out there to stop them," I replied.

He looked at me incredulously. I had seen Erik's mask earlier. Grabbing it, I threw it at him. He caught it and looked at it strangely.

"If I see you or even one mob member here, I will kill you."

Philippe did not move. He was staring at the mask.

I continued, "I will burn down the estate only after killing you in your sleep."

He looked at me and knew that it was no idle threat. And it was not. I was willing to do it all. I had reached my breaking point. I had had enough of him and of the life he offered. He nodded slowly.

"What are you going to do now?" He asked.

"The only thing I can do."

"What?" He asked confused.

"When you take away my titles: Vicomte, patron, brother, fiancé, there is no one else. Nothing is left. I'm already dead. I'm already a ghost."

Philippe just stared at me in confusion. He turned, and I left him one last warning, "Anyone, Philippe and you will wish you had never come to Paris."

He ran then. I waited staring at the entrances with the pistol ready. After a few minutes, I went to Erik and moved him into a comfortable position. No one else was coming.

o.o.o (end flashback) o.o.o

Erik's POV

"And here we are now," he concluded.

"Yes," I muttered, "Here we are now."

I was happy and relieved because Raoul was here right now, but after hearing that story I was more than a little confused. The Comte and Christine had been planning to capture me. I had been close to becoming another trapped monster. Raoul saved me, but what he said had confused me.

How could I be confused though? This was Raoul. I knew him. I knew him better than I knew Christine. We were the same. He had yet to look at me though. When he did, I was lost. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, but he still smiled. It was a smile I had seen often. It was a smile that hid his pain.

"Did you know I realized something," he gestured with his hand and turned to face me completely, "after all we'd been through?"

I still did not know what was happening. This all seemed so surreal. Could it be true that Raoul was here with me? There was no Comte, no Christine. It was only him and me. I wanted to tell him to come down from the ledge, but he did not look as though he would be willing to. To close the distance between us, I climbed up to stand on the ledge along with him. It was wide enough for both of us to stand on without touching each other and without hanging over the edge.

Raoul was holding onto the wing of angel. I moved to stand in front of him.

"What did you realize?" I asked, placing one arm around his waist. He looked up at me with a sad expression.

"The only true freedom is in death."

I frowned at the sentiment. I did not know exactly how to respond. It was probably true. Instead of saying anything, I pulled him closer to me. Though I wanted to look at his face, the desire to hold him close was stronger.

I smiled when Raoul lifted his arms to wrap around my neck pulling us even closer together. This was freedom. This was my freedom. Raoul was it.

I maneuvered us so that we were closer to the statue. I did not want us to fall. In fact, I wanted us to get off this ledge and just leave this place altogether.

"Salvation is close at hand…" I began, but was cut off by Raoul.

"… if only someone would help me reach it." He continued rather wistfully.

It was an odd phenomenon to have someone know exactly what you were thinking, but I no longer doubted Raoul's capability to understand me, to understand what I was feeling and thinking.

I held him close knowing that the only place Raoul belonged was in my arms.

I did not want to disrupt the moment, but I had to, "What did you mean when you told the Comte there was nothing left?"

I felt him adjust his head so that his cheek pressed against my unmarred cheek. He tried to pull away from me, but I held him tighter. I was not going to let him go.

"About what?" He evaded.

"You said," I pushed the question, "I'm already dead. I'm already a ghost."

He tried to pull away again and this time I allowed it. His arms were still looped around my neck and I still had my arms around his waist.

"You and I," Raoul commented. "I used to think that we were so alike. We both had horrible pasts. We both had scars, memories we would like to forget, cages, and chains. I was wrong though."

I looked at him in confusion. He had not answered my question. I let it go for the moment. Admittedly, I had also thought we were similar. After everything, I still believed that we were. It was almost like being two sides of the same coin.

"There's one major difference between us." He looked at me with sad eyes, and I wished there was some way I could take that pain away from him.

"Your chains held you down."

I waited for him to continue.

"Mine," he looked away, "Mine held me up."

I shook my head fervently, "That's not true. Not you."

He looked away, and I knew he did not believe me. I decided to drop the topic. I had time to convince him.

I knew I could get used to this, the feel of his body against mine. I nuzzled his cheek and I felt him sigh.

"Do you know what _I've_ realized?" I asked him.

He shook his head. I leaned a little forward to kiss him on his throat. My lips lingered and I could feel his heart beating erratically. He let out a shaky breath and held me tighter. I smiled. I almost did not believe this was happening.

"I thought fate had been cruel enough to send you away," I whispered in his ear. He let out a little whimper. He pulled back far enough to kiss me on my cheek. He moved across to kiss the side that was deformed. This time I pulled back far enough to see his face. I wanted to see if he was disgusted.

He smiled shyly at me. He looked like he was not sure if it had been okay to kiss me on my deformity. I had not minded it at all.

"My freedom," I looked at him as seriously as I could to convey how true this was, "is with you."

Raoul looked at me in disbelief. "Really?"

I nodded. He smiled then, a radiant smile that I had only ever imagined. A real smile that hid nothing. There was no sadness, no pain. It was a smile that managed to take my breath away.

"Then we are tied by fate because you are my freedom, too," he said resolutely as though he had just made up his mind about something. He closed his eyes momentarily before I realized that he was crying. He looked just as surprised as I was that he was crying.

I began to wipe away the tears, but he buried his face into my shoulder.

"Raoul," I asked worriedly, "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, and I had a feeling that he had not cried in a long time. I held him and my heart ached with the pain that radiated from him.

When he raised his head, I was surprised to see that he was smiling. His eyes were a little red, but he was still smiling. "I'm just glad to know that."

I could not help but just smile back at him. I wondered how he could still be that innocent.

"You'll promise to live long right?" He looked at me pleadingly.

I looked at him a little confused.

"You had looked so lost for a moment. Like you had given up before," He replied.

I had given up, but that was over. How could I even begin to think of giving up when Raoul was right here.

When I did not respond, he pressed it, "Promise you'll continue to live." He hugged me briefly before looking me in the eyes again.

I nodded. "I promise."

He smiled again, and I knew I would never be able to deny him anything.

Tentatively, we both leaned forward our lips brushing gently. It was a little awkward since neither of us knew exactly what to do. I doubted that he had ever kissed a man before. I had never kissed anyone before, but I had seen many people doing it. I did not know it would make me so nervous. Pulling away only a hairsbreadth, we leaned forward again.

I could feel my lips tingling and my heart was beating rapidly. Raoul opened his mouth and I took the invitation. I slid my tongue into his mouth and reveled in the feel when Raoul's tongue caressed my own. I was lost on the sensation. This was what it felt like to kiss someone, and Raoul ardently returned the passion I felt. I moved one hand to brush through his hair.

His hands moved from my neck to my shoulders before he pulled away. He bowed his head but I could see the pleased grin on his face. His lips were a little swollen and his cheeks were flushed. I wished to always be able to see him like this. He leaned his head to rest on my shoulder and I held him a little tighter. I only loosened my grip when I felt him push back a little more.

"I don't know who I even am anymore," Raoul started. I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued, "but I want to thank you for seeing me. I-I can honestly say I love you."

He had stolen the words I had wanted to have told him. I lifted his chin so that I could see his eyes and there were more tears. I kissed him gently and was pleased when Raoul responded immediately. I opened my mouth to tell him how I felt, but he cut me off.

"… but…"

I lifted my hand to brush the tears away.

"I died a long time ago."

I looked at him confused. Suddenly he pushed as hard as he could on my shoulders and I was falling backward. My arms flailed. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him flying backward as well.

"No!" Pure terror flooded my body.

He fell out of my sight and it felt as though I were falling off the Opera Populaire as well for all the time it was taking me to hit the rooftop. My stomach was somewhere in my throat and I suddenly had a flash of my dream before I hit the roof. When I did, all the air was forced out of my lungs and my whole body felt jarred. However, I scrambled to my feet and pulled myself on the ledge to look down.

"Raoul!" I screamed.

I punched the ledge as hard as I could. I could see his body lying on the floor by the street.

There were a few people below who had probably heard my scream, but I did not care. Someone was there checking his body. Someone had called for an ambulance.

I knew he was gone though.

I pulled away from the ledge and stared at the spot Raoul had just occupied. I walked back not quite believing what had happened. Was this clarity? Was this why I came here? To see him die. To have him in my arms before he said goodbye. My legs gave way beneath me, and I screamed until I could taste blood. I fell forward into my arms and began to cry. I cried even though I still wanted to scream. I cried because I did not have any energy left to do anything but cry. How could it hurt this much? It felt as though my heart had been torn.

I did not have anything left in me. It all fell off that roof. I thought of jumping off to follow him, but my legs would not listen. I felt my mind go numb.

How? Why?

The only clear thought I had was… Let it be a dream.

Let the lingering taste of tears, the warmth of his body, the feel of his lips… rip them from my memory, but just let Raoul be alive.

End story (epilogue in process)

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End ch23

Word count: 6,771

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter Review: Short chapter. Couldn't make it any longer though.

This was so sad and a little more fluff than I would have liked for this story (but I could not bring myself to change it). I'm sorry. I told you this story was dark. I told you it was different from what I usually did. I actually think I could have handled that last scene a little better. I keep reading it over, but I can't find something I want to change (though I know I should).

Damn, I'm so mean to Raoul. He was happy in the end though. (Not like that means anything).


	24. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. A Promise.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: Short short chapter that could have simply been appended to the previous one, but I didn't want to break the mood. (Don't still be mad at me. They _were_ happy for a short while.)

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Unmasking the Chains

Epilogue

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Last time:

[Do I even need to write what happened? I was a cruel, cruel person. We all know it.

o.o.o

Christine sneaked into the opera house. She had arrived at the opera house only to find that Raoul had committed suicide. At least that was what the police were saying. It looked like suicide, but witnesses were saying that they heard a voice screaming on the rooftop. When authorities went to investigate though, they found no one. They did not even find anything that looked like a struggle.

She had a sneaking suspicion that he had been murdered by a ghost. She did not feel sad at the loss. She was angry at all Chagny's and in her opinion, Raoul had not been very well these past few weeks. It was not surprising that he would be killed. Or maybe he did commit suicide.

She waited outside of the opera house for the phantom. She knew that she could probably find a job herself, but if she had the phantom with her, she knew she would be successful. When midnight passed and there was still no sign of him, she went inside.

Walking to the stage where she first found him, she looked around. The opera house seemed completely empty, but that was a misconception that everyone had. Instead of finding the phantom, she found a note on the floor.

_Christine_

_Everything is all too clear now. I've been chained to this opera house ever since I had arrived, chained to this city. Chained because of Madame Giry's kindness, the power I felt, myself, and this mask. However, you've chained me here too Christine and I cannot let that happen any longer. You are indeed the mask I wear. _

_I'm already dead. I'm already a ghost. But I still have a promise to keep. I will not go with you. I cannot go with you. _

_No more chains. _

_No more masks._

_Erik._

She wondered at the note. She had never known his name had been Erik. He had always referred to himself as the opera ghost. She left the opera house to find a new life and to leave everything behind her. However, she left feeling as though she had missed something very important.

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End epilogue

Word count: 354

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Story Review: I'll tell you what the master plan had actually been.

This actually had a continuation. It was a trilogy of my trying new things, things I'd never done before.

I. A Mask for All Occasions (AMFAO) : Series of character vignettes or whatever you want to call them.

II. Unmasking the Chains (UTC) : A really angsty, dark, not a happy ending story (but hopefully one that still made you squee.).

III. [Will remain untitled here, unless I actually do write it, but you'll know if it's part of the trilogy since it has the word 'mask' in it : Now this one is something I swore I would never do… A complete AU where they're in modern times. I cannot really stand stories that do this and if you notice in my stories, I always follow scenes/plotlines from the movie or stage-play because when I re-watch them, it's just great to connect my stories to those particular parts (unfortunately, it's also kind of ruined me from watching POTO with an unbiased mind. Technically, I grin like an idiot when I watch the movie now. It's inevitable really. Oh, that and I get thoroughly pissed at Christine… that too is inevitable.) Okay, back to the point. I wanted to try a modern AU. Thematically it'll be similar to the previous two. However, I don't want to raise any hopes, and I may just quite POTO altogether since I've been stuck on it for a while now. I do want to branch out somewhat, you know?

But… I did want to tell you that I hadn't wanted to leave it as a sad ending. I'm all for happy endings. It would have been… eventually.

Thank you for reading my story and thank you all for giving me the strength to continue with your reviews. Let's do business again someday.


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